#to the bind off of a sock is never a bad thing

[milkweedman]

Oh right, it puffs up a ton with blocking, that's what it was. Normally I'd use the thicker yarn for the toe but finer fibers aside the difference in gauge is too severe for me not to have to do math and shaping if I tried that. Plus, I definitely don't have enough for two toes, and I doubt I'd get the exact same thickness on the second miniskein of this yarn. So, accent yarn. I guess it'll probably stand out better if nothing else.

[idontknowanametouse]

Miraculous Rewrite AU. Chapter 1: Origins

(character redesigns are based off @aoberiart work)

(long post under the cut)

(tw/cw: slight mention of ableism, alcoholism, child neglect, child abuse, anxiety crisis and manipulation)

-

Gabriel takes the grimoire in his hands. He looks at the container in front of him. It comes close to exploding, the being whose pure essence is the concept of transmission trying to break free from the technological prison created by the Tsurugi Industries.

Taking a deep breath, he reads the spell in the grimoire, which unites a kwami ​​with a human, forming a miraculous, and connects the device that binds the cosmic being to the bionic syringe. It takes no more than a few seconds for the needle to pierce through his skin and the light to leave the inside of the mechanical box.

Gabriel lets out a howl of pain, feeling something inside him almost shatter. However, keeping his goal in mind, he persists. He can't let that destroy him, not if he wants to get her back.

It seems to take a thousand years and one second. And when he least expected, it stopped.

Gabriel flexes his fingers covered in a mesh that wasn't there before, feeling his body, which no longer burns in pain. He focuses on his veins and feels the power coursing not through his physique, but through his soul. He feels the creature tied to him and its insistence on trying to escape, completely in vain.

He turns to the mirror, until he realizes that, in the midst of his transformation, he broke it. Looking at the shards on the floor, he notices his reflection in them. Despite the fragmented appearance, he can see the outward representation of his power.

Gabriel gets up to tell Nathalie that it worked.

-

-Plagg.

They get up, alarmed, until he sees her.

-Tikki?

-There is something happening.

That's when Plagg feels it.

-Nooroo.

-This happened before. With Duusu. And with you.

-…Yes.

-And you know what that means.

-…sometimes, it's not good to be the strongest.

-It's our duty, Plagg. Destruction and creation, remember?

-I was talking about our miraculous.

-…in fact, it will be bad for them.

-Do you know someone? Do you have a person in mind?

-Yes. But…

-But?

-She is only fifteen years old.

-…I see.

-Do you have someone who can do this?

-Yes. He's… also a child.

-We shouldn't do this to them.

-But there's no one else in this city, right?

-No. Not someone who has such a connection with us.

-Let's take care of them. I, at least, know that I will take care of mine. And you?

-I already take care of her. And now, I will care like I never did before.

-See you around, sugar cube… or Thérese.

-Likewise, stinky cheese… or should I call you Paul?

-You know you can call me whatever you want.

-Fool.

-There are no foolish cats, my dear ladybug.

-

Marinette thought a lot about her first school day outfit. After all, it will be the outfit she wears for class for most of the year. Finally, she manages to make up her mind, after a long time of doubt.

The shoes are black and doll-like, covering the instep engulfed by white striped socks. The skirt is also black, with pleats, and the light pink dress shirt has a red bow at the neck, complemented by black suspenders. She chooses to leave her hair loose, as she got tired of the pigtails.

They get dressed after breakfast, picking up their backpack and going down the stairs to the bakery and the street. They cross the intersection quickly, then enter the school gate and head towards what they were told to be their class.

As always, because she likes to get there early and lives close to the school, she is the first to arrive, seeing, little by little, her classmates fill the room. Taking out her notebook, she starts drawing sketches of her friends' clothes, after all, she always likes to sew new ones for them and has to know what kind of things they like to wear.

Nino greets her by kissing her on the temple, to which she laughs, looking at the bell-bottom jeans, the light green t-shirt with a sunflower print, the white and green striped long-sleeved blouse, the red headphones and, of course, the occasional flowers in their hair. People say the flower shop smell on him is as strong as the bakery's in Marinette.

Nathaniel blows her a kiss from afar, which she reciprocates. He wears a burgundy jumpsuit over a white long-sleeved shirt, his hands wrapped in black fishnet gloves and, on top of his head, a gray beanie. They also got a new piercing in their eyebrow, and the jumpsuit, despite being new (after all, Nath always repeats his clothes and Marinette has never seen that one before), already has small drops of dried paint noticeable on it.

Juleka gives a slight nod when she sees her, and Marinette waves her hand. Juleka's style has been the same since she was eleven years old: fishnet tights, black boots, a black pleated skirt (like theirs!), a purple off-the-shoulder sweater over a black top, silver necklaces and bracelets and black spiked chokers. Despite her appearance, Juleka has always been very kind, just like her brother.

Rose, on the other hand, comes in already hugging her. She doesn't mind Marinette hugging her back awkwardly, because, in her words, "a hug is a hug." She wears a short jeans jumpsuit over a pink blouse, with white socks and pink boots with a flower print, accompanied by a daisy in her hair.

Sabrina waves at Marinette, receiving the same gesture in return. Her white stockings are long, reaching halfway down her thigh, and a daisy adorns her hair, and she looks beautiful in the short white lace dress under a green sweatshirt. On her lap, she carries a photography camera, the same one she always carries with her.

Alix high-fives them, calling her, as usual, ��the radest designer ever”. They wear a gray shirt accompanied by a green crop top and a green and black coat with a snake pattern, in addition to their pants having various designs, and their gray, black and green sneakers are highlighted by black socks. And, as always, there's their trademark gray and black cap along with their skates and magenta hair.

Kim and her also high five, which looks a little strange from the outside, given their height difference. He always has the same style of clothing, and it's always simple, which isn't a bad thing: a red sports sweatshirt over a black blouse, with black pants and wristbands, complemented by red sneakers.

Max gives her a categorical nod, to which Marinette responds with a wave of her hand. Like Kim, he doesn't tend to change his clothes much, not that this is a problem. He wears a green blouse accompanied by brown pants, a black belt, a brown tie and dark suspenders.

Ivan hugs her silently, without much force, but lovingly. He is always misjudged because of his appearance, despite being one of the sweetest people Marinette knows. Today, he wears black shorts accompanied by white socks and brown boots, as well as a black blouse with crossed bones under a black coat.

Myléne gives her a typical handshake, which Marinette responds to enthusiastically. She has dreadlocks this year, apparently differentiating herself a bit from last year. She wears a brown skirt with a white dove design next to a wide green blouse over a black top, the blouse with some buttons, some necklaces on top, several bracelets on her arms, pink sunglasses on her face and a pink band holding her hair back.

Finally, Alya arrives, also hugging her and sitting next to her, just like she did last year to start their friendship. Her best friend wears ripped jeans, an orange sweater with white details, several bottons on her chest and her typical fox pendant necklace, as well as earrings, rings and bracelets.

Marinette is relieved that her entire class is there. She knows that it is likely that new students will enter the class, but she thinks it will be okay, since she has known the majority of that class since childhood and they are friends, being the most constant things in her life besides her parents and her home.

That's when, just before the bell rings, the two enter the room.

The girl appears to be wearing designer clothes, with a white coat resting over her elbows and showing her shoulders, a yellow high-necked and sleeveless blouse with black details, black pants, white boots and a black beret on her head, as well as light golden makeup. The boy has much simpler clothes, with just black pants and shirt under a light green coat.

The two stop in front of the room and the girl whispers in the boy's ear. He nods and they separate, taking the only two free seats: the girl is next to Sabrina, who immediately starts to chat with her, and the boy is next to Nino, just in front of Marinette.

Before the teacher enters the room and the class begins, Marinette frowns, smelling a faint smell of… camembert cheese?

-

Adrien wakes up at five in the morning, so anxious is he. He packs his backpack and his own clothes several times, barely able to wait until Chloé comes to pick him up. Don't get him wrong, he loves Placide, but he really needs to go to and from school with Chloé. The reason? Simple: he has no experience with going to school and Chloé has to teach him how to behave. Ok, her entire life's experience was at a military school, but still, it's better than nothing, which is his case.

Seeing the morning sun begin to rise, Adrien heads to the living room, but not before leaving some camembert cheese in his bedroom. In recent months, a stray cat has come into his room to eat, and it seems to especially like that kind of cheese. Adrien has no reason to send him away or stop feeding him, so he takes care of him when he comes there. And, just in case, he leaves the cheese there in case the cat comes over during the day.

-Adrien – calls Nathalie, at the bedroom door. – Come and have breakfast. Your father…

-…he's not there, right?

-…no.

-Ok…

Honestly, today, Adrien is relieved that his father isn't there. Most days, he would be uncomfortable and then conform, but since Gabriel was very reluctant to honor his agreement with his son to let him go to high school, it's good to avoid that situation and leave without being noticed by him. Even more so because he plans to use his crutches at school, as he wouldn't be able to spend so much time without them, and his father… wouldn't like that…

Chloé arrives soon, and Adrien is able to take a deep breath and relax in the presence of his best friend. At home, even when he knows his father isn't there, he can't help but think he's being watched. Being away and by his best friend's side is a relief.

-What is it? – Chloe asks.

-Hmm? Nothing.

-Why that face? It looks horrible. Did you put on makeup?

-No. I do not know how to do it on my own, you know that.

-You should learn. At school, appearance is everything.

-Wasn't your school military?

-And?

-They banned makeup.

-I would pass some that no one would notice, just so I'd not have that horrible sleepy look like that one in your face. Now, ready for class about school?

She talks a lot in those fifteen minutes they stay in the car, and Adrien understands almost nothing, but thanks her anyway at the end. Chloé said he can sit next to her in the room, which relieves him, since it seems like this sitting next to someone thing is important.

However, his hope is shattered as soon as they reach the room and see that no two seats next to each other are empty. Adrien feels a slight nervousness inside him, but Chloé leans into his ear and whispers:

-Stay with that guy over there – and points to someone with headphones. – and I will stay there. – and points to a girl with a daisy in her hair.

-…alright.

Adrien feels a little uncomfortable sitting next to someone he doesn't know, and is surprised when the one next to him catches his attention.

-Hey there.

-…hey. – Adrien feels his face heat up. He doesn't really know what to do in that situation. This wasn't like the times his father took him to parties and events, where he memorized what to do. Here, he really has no idea how to act.

-What's your name?

-Adrien.

-Hi, Adrien. – he… doesn't recognize him? Internally, this brings a little relief to Adrien, because at least one person won't see him as his father wanted them to. – I'm Nino. – the boy next to him smiles. His clothes don't really look like what someone who knew his father's work would wear.

-…hi, Nino. – Adrien extends his hand, as he is used to always doing. The confusion on Nino's face leaves him panicking, thinking he's made a terrible mistake. However, Nino smiles and squeezes his hand tightly.

-Wanna be my friend?

-Huh? – Adrien mutters, the shock running through his body and almost paralyzing him.

-Sorry, was that too fast?

-Do you… really want to be my friend?

-You wanna?

-Hum, yes. – he murmurs, his eyes going to his fingers, full of cuticles from the times he pulls them. – I… would really like that. I… I've only had one real friend my whole life, so… yeah.

-Oh. I can introduce you to my friends if you want! – and smiles again.

-…thank you.

-

Ivan receives the call during class break.

-…ms Florence? – he feels his hands shake as he answers his neighbor’s call. Calm down, calm down.

-Ivan. Your mother left again. – he swallows hard. No, not again… – The smell of alcohol is strong. I… really don't recommend you go home now. There's a man knocking on the door, talking about your father.

He freezes. With a lot of effort, he manages to mutter:

-Thanks for letting me know.

-Take care of yourself.

He turns off his cell phone and puts it away. He puts his hands in his jacket pockets. He tries to pay attention to the ground and ignore how it's going round and round.

Ivan runs as discreetly as he can to the school basement. It's only used to store trash and useless things (just like him), no one goes there. Nobody will find him. No one will disturb him.

He sits in a forgotten, dusty corner and hugs his knees. His heart is racing too much. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes are blurring.

The extremities of his body are becoming numb, so much so that he may not even notice anyone touching him.

Ivan squeezes, his hand searching for the bottom of his jacket pocket, a small ball of paper. That, that little ball of paper that he keeps there, and that when he feels like screaming and breaking and crying, he squeezes and squeezes and squeezes.

Don't show that you are angry, you will be threatening. Don't show that you are sad, you will be weak. Don't show yourself to be anything other than a heartless and emotionless stone, it will be against everything they thought of you your entire life.

Don't feel it, don't feel it, don't feel it, you don't have to feel it, you shouldn't feel it, don't feel it, don't feel it…

“Stoneheart, I am Hawk Moth”

He suddenly feels an outside interference. No, it's not, it's internal, he knows it's inside, because he can feel all the barriers he once created, all the secrets and things he's kept to himself his entire life, falling before that interference. That presence.

The one which, suddenly, knows his whole soul.

“You feel fragile because of people who didn’t care about you”

The voice enters his brain like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, dripping through his neurons and flooding everything, making his thoughts more brittle and forgettable.

The voice… no, the butterfly says something that is true. To the surface of his consciousness come all the times his mother and the people who claimed to work with his father hurt him. All the times he couldn't get the smell of alcohol out of his nose, all the times he had to knock at Mrs. Florence because his mother kicked him out of the apartment.

All the times he wished he could just be strong enough to stop feeling all that pain.

“I can give you the power to leave any weak feeling behind and never suffer again”

Could it do this? Could it do this?

Of course it could.

The words of that butterfly are so true that they make everything else in the world seem like a lie.

-…ok… – his voice is hoarse and terribly broken. As soon as he utters that simple word, the teenager feels his body, mind and heart sink into darkness.

-

Marinette is inside the bathroom, washing her hands, when it happens.

First, it's something similar to an explosion, and the ground shakes. Then, an inhuman voice shouts something she can't understand, and a bizarrely loud sound of footsteps follows. The girl, with no understanding, quickly goes to the door, and can see, in the distance, someone running.

Something running.

It has a vaguely humanoid body, however, made entirely of rocks and absurdly large, in a way that no person could be. All the students scream and run away from the thing, which goes towards the exit and breaks down the school gate with a single punch, leaving it in the middle of the street and, with that, starting even more screams, along with the sound of cars braking and crashing.

What…?

Marinette's heart is so fast that she's afraid it will stop. The girl stumbles backwards, feeling her back wave until she touches the back wall of the bathroom, sensing her hands shaking and her breath failing. She screams and screams and covers her face with her hands, feeling the horror of something that should be impossible penetrating every inch of her brain.

-Marinette! Marinette, look at me! Look at me! Breathe deeply!

Her throat, at least, stops making sounds, but the girl is still shaking, her face covered by her hands and tears. The voice, which seems slightly familiar, says:

-Breathe with me. Don't think about anything else, just breathe with me, pay attention here and now. One two three. One two three. One two three…

With much effort and many minutes, Marinette manages to calm her breathing and heartbeat. Finally gaining courage, she opens her eyes, and sees…

Her psychologist.

-T-Therese? – she murmurs, her voice hoarse from the screams and tears. – Wh… what… what are you… I… that… that thing…

-Listen, Mari, I know it's horrible to be here right now. I know this is all horrible, and unbelievable, and confusing. But you need to focus on me, now. Only on me.

Marinette hesitantly nods her head. Therese gives them a gentle smile.

And then she turns into a ten-centimeter big-headed creature.

Marinette screams.

-

Adrien barely feels his body.

He just witnessed a giant creature made of stone run out of the school. He panicked and went into the bathroom to hide, and found the cat that always visited his room. It's not a similar cat, it's exactly the same.

Maybe the absurdity of that situation made his brain shut down. The fact is that Adrien is standing in the middle of the bathroom, staring at that cat.

And then the cat turns into a person.

The two pairs of green eyes stare at each other.

-What? – Adrien murmurs, fearing that he has finally lost his sanity.

The person, still sitting like a cat, mumbles:

-Hi, kitten. – and sighs. – We have a lot to talk about.

-

-You are a cosmic entity denominated kwami ​​and your name is Tikki.

-Yes.

-You are the representation of the concept of creation and have existed since the beginning of the universe.

-Yes.

-You choose people who have a strong connection with your concept and transform them into “miraculous”, giving them powers.

-Yes.

-There are other kwamis and one of them is forcibly being used in some way by a person who, through their power, created that thing made of stone that I just saw out of someone else's negative feelings.

-Yes.

-And you chose me to be a miraculous.

-Yes.

-But… but… but why me?! What's so special about me?! Why not literally anyone else?!

-I don't know why, Marinette. Connections are one of the few things in this universe I have no idea about.

-…do you really want this? Do you want me to do this?

-You need to accept it.

-How am I going to become, I don't know, a superhero if I can barely deal with my anxiety problems?!

-Marinette, you are one of the youngest people I have ever felt a connection with, but I know that if this happened, it is because you are capable. The choice is yours, but know that I believe in you.

-…alright.

-Really?

-Yeah.

Tikki smiled.

-You are extraordinary, Marinette.

A red explosion enters her soul.

-

-…what's your name?

-Plagg.

-…okay, Plagg. I'll do it.

-Really? Are you sure you're ready for this?

-I think this is the thing, the reason to my life, I've been waiting for for such a long time. I didn't know what it was, but now, it feels like that's it. Plus… it's nice to be able to choose to be something instead of being forced to for once.

Plagg lets out a sigh that sounds more like a chuckle.

-Kitten, you have much sharper claws than others may think.

His soul merges with the blast of darkness.

-

Marinette looks at herself in the bathroom mirror, shocked. It's exactly how she imagined. How she designed her magical girl dress when she was eight. The dress she never showed to anyone else.

The red tutu dress has three large half circles at the hem, with a black ribbon at the waist tied in a bow at the back, and the upper half of the torso is black with a V shape, covering her torax to her neck. The tights are black, the shoes are doll-like and red gloves cover their forearms up to the elbow, with their hands completely black and a black circle on their elbows. On their face, there is a domino red mask with a black stripe in the middle and two black spots on the sides. Her hair is tied with a black band in a bun.

Her fingers delicately pass over the mask, still trying to understand the situation. She feels something on her thigh, and, reaching for it, she notices something wrapped around it. She carefully unwinds the thread and feels the weight of the object at the end of it in her hands, revealing…

A yo-yo.

Tikki warned her that it would seem… unexpected, at first, but that it would work, like, in her words, “that Spider-Man thing that you youngsters like”. She also said that Marinette would have access to two powers, one of them being the Lucky Charm, which created a specific object that, in some way, would be able to save her from the situation she was in. The other power would be exclusive to Marinette, and there was no way for them to know what it was until it manifested. Also, after she used her powers, she would feel a great loss of energy, especially since she was a teenager, and would need to rest for a few hours.

A little excited and a little terrified, the girl comes out of the bathroom, and sees no one in the half-destroyed school yard. Then, she takes a deep breath, throws the yo-yo as far as she can and feels a pull, then being thrown towards the direction she launched her “weapon”.

The girl screams.

-

When Adrien looks at the mirror, he doesn't recognize himself.

It's different from basically everything his father wants him to be. It's different from what others expect from him. And it's exactly how he wishes he could be.

The black hood has a cat bell at the neck, one of the sleeves being short and the other long. There's a kind of… black belt (?) on his chest, and his sweatpants are wide, reaching down to his ankles. Around his waist, there are some wide black belts with one of them unbuckled, looking like there is a cat's tail behind him. He wears black gloves, one of them fingerless and the other with small claws, and black boots. On his face, there is a black domino mask and, from the middle of his hair, two black cat ears emerge.

Adrien moves on his crutches. They're also black now, with bright green accents, and both have a button near the rest area for his hands. Plagg said it would help him move around Paris faster, which is a relief, honestly (even though Adrien has no idea how). He also said that he had two superpowers, one of them being secret and only Adrien's, and the other called Cataclysm, which could destroy anything he touched.

Coming out of the bathroom, he finds himself next to an open window. Probably a student opened it to escape. Adrien, not quite sure what to do, tilts his crutches towards the window and, holding tight to the hand rest, presses his thumbs against the buttons.

He is launched upwards, through the open window and across Paris' sky.

-

Marinette holds onto the gargoyle tightly.

She is at the top of Notre Dame Cathedral. And trembling with fear, because if they slip, they could fall to their death. In fact, she spent the last five minutes clinging to the statue, eyes closed.

Why did she think she could do this? Why did she think she was good enough to be a hero? She's the opposite of functional in everyday life, for God's sake! How did she expect to be able to fly around Paris, let alone fight villains?!

Marinette is about to start crying when she hears the scream. Which gets closer and closer.

And suddenly, someone in a black suit falls right on top of the gargoyle next to them. A black cat costume. Someone Tikki talked about.

-H-hello? – Marinette murmurs, but the wind at that height makes the person, who clings to the gargoyle just like her, not hear her. Taking courage, she exclaims: – Hello!!

The person dressed as a cat was surprised and then turned to her, giving a slight wave:

-Hey!!

-Are you the cat Miraculous?!

-I am!! You're the ladybug, right?!

-Yeah!!

-I'm… – and he stopped for a moment, then exclaiming: – Chat Noir!!!

-Huh… – she stops for a moment to think, but no particularly creative option comes to mind. – Ladybug!!!

-Nice to meet you!!

-Me, too!!

-I would extend my hand, but we must be about five meters away from each other!!!

-How do we get out of here?!

-I don't know!! How did you get here?!

-With that yo-yo!! And you?!

-My crutches!! I think… there shouldn't be any limits for these things, so… maybe we just need to leave the same way we came?!

-Almost throwing ourselves out of the building?!

-Like that!!

-But shouldn't we fight the villain?! The akuma guy?! How are we going to find him?!

-Shouldn't the police be after him?! Or the army?!

-Yes!!

-Just go wherever they are going!!

She released the yo-yo and he pressed the buttons. They went, clumsily crossing the sky and howling, to the place with the most screams in the entire city.

-

People ran, getting away from the villain's enormous stony figure. The strange thing was that he didn't actually attack anyone, just the occasional police car that tried to stop him. In fact, he seemed to be trying to go to the least populated area possible.

And Marinette couldn't help but feel sorry, because… something about him reminded her of someone, but she couldn't tell who.

-We need to break… the “akumatized object”, right? – she murmured.

-Yes, but what object? He's not holding anything.

-His left hand doesn't open at all, while the other is almost always open… he must be holding the object there.

-And… how do we make him open his hand?

-I can use my power, but… I don't know how…

-What does it do?

-Um, Tikki, my kwami, explained that it creates an object that will help me in the situation, but I don't… know how to call it…?

-Try… to think hard, I guess? Try that.

Marinette then closed her eyes and imagined, with force, some object of an indefinite shape that would help her. A… lucky charm.

Something fell into their hand.

They both looked at the object in shock.

-That's… an inflatable mattress.

-…I think your power is a little broken or something.

-I… maybe I can create a plan, but… I think it's better if we attack him first? It is better.

It was a disaster.

When Adrien called the cataclysm, he accidentally broke a mailbox he was leaning on and, because of this, he could no longer use his power. When Marinette tried to wrap her yo-yo around the villain's arm and pull it away, he swung his limb and threw her away. And, what's worse, when Adrien tried to attack him with his crutches, as soon as he was hit, he got bigger.

And he was coming towards them.

It was then that the two realized it was time to get away. Quickly.

They moved as far away as they could and found an isolated building in the middle of a residential area, which they landed on. Both felt the weight of using their powers on their bodies, energy being drained and tiredness falling over them. Interestingly, as soon as they just wanted to detransform, it happened.

-…Hey you…

-…Me?

-Aren't you… one of the new students? The ones that started in class today?

-In… François-Dupont? Yes it's me. What's your name?

-Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

-Adrien Graham de Vanily.

-You… aren't you the model?

-…yeah, I am.

-Ah… now that I noticed… I sit… right behind you…

-…cool… where are our kwamis?

-There's a black cat right there, on the edge of the roof – and they pointed at Plagg. – and a ladybug that's hitting my head, so… maybe it's them?

-She told you about tiredness, right?

-Uhum… can we just… sleep? Until we recover?

-I think it's better…

They lay down on the concrete, and, with fear and worry still rooted inside their hearts, ended up falling into a deep sleep. The two cosmic beings remained on guard, waiting for the young ones to wake up.

-

I think it was a decent introduction. Probably won't take long until chapter 2 is out.

[hekateinhell]

Would you ever write more about trans!Armand and his three boyfs having fun? 🥺 Yes I might be a bit hinting on something but... you know... you write it so well... 🥺

I would! I just don't know when, things shift around on my fic writing to-do list so much 😭

but I feel bad because I did say I was gonna write it months ago and then I DIDN'T so here's a snippet from what I have languishing in the google gocs that's set in the same AU! mostly armand ruminating on his changing body and the challenges it brings in the bedroom (nsfw) this is supposed to be leading to the gangbang eventually:

He shuts the bedroom door gently and deposits the little white bag on the bed. Armand still hasn't fully settled into the new place – it's home, but it's fragile, tentative – he needs to be careful. 

He starts from the bottom up. Stripping socks, pants, underwear. There's always been a peculiar distinction to him between outside clothes and inside clothes. Everything has to change, even the underwear. Next is the sweater, then the undershirt. 

Finally comes the binder. 

Black and sturdy, it binds all the way down to his belly button, compressing his chest entirely. 

He's lucky, he supposes. Armand's chest – like most of him – had always been on the smaller end of the spectrum. Each side is large enough that Lestat's palms can cover them completely and not much more. 

Still, he craves the illusion of total flatness that a binder provides, and as much as it's nice to shed it and allow his body to relax fully, it always hits him with an initial sense of loss. 

Armand hasn't quite figured out which size and brand works best, and a quality binder is a rather expensive purchase. This one, one of two he has, is a bit too tight and always leaves his chest and sides sore from where it has been pressing down into his tender skin. If anyone else were home, Armand might curl up and ask for a quick massage that would inevitably lead to kissing and fooling around. Later, perhaps. 

Besides, it's good that he has the place to himself, a rare moment of privacy that's hard to come by when four men share a one-bedroom apartment. 

He rubs at his chest absentmindedly for a moment before turning to the dresser. Slips on a fresh pair of briefs and then wonders why he did it – they're about to come off again in a minute. Skips the neatly folded t-shirts in his drawer in favor of the ratty gray sweatshirt stuffed into Daniel's drawer. 

The length hits Armand precisely above his knees, the fabric slipping off to expose his shoulder. He loves wearing their things: Daniel's sweatshirts, Lestat's band tees, Louis's collared shirts – he would wear their pants too if they didn't just fall off him entirely. 

Armand never asks, and nobody seems to mind. 

There's something extraordinarily soothing about disappearing into his lovers' clothes, the feel of each material holding a different association, drowning in their scents whenever he craves that particular comfort. 

Comfort that Armand could use. 

He takes a deep breath and drops onto the bed before reaching into the bag, pulling out the boxed set of dilators, holding it at arm's length, turning it over gingerly as if it has already personally offended him.  

Better to get this over with. 

Made quick work of the packing and did a cursory review of the instructions – nothing that the sweet salesperson hadn't already gone over with him while Armand had stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight from one side to the other, trying his hardest not to blush and failing spectacularly. 

Five purple cylinders, each with a different length and girth, starting small and gradually increasing in both measures. 

Armand's heartbeat picks up, and his throat feels achingly dry. 

It's not arousal; in fact, he's the opposite of turned on right now. His body knows this is going to be uncomfortable to start with, at best. Interesting how drastically his pain threshold drops when it wasn't tied directly to intimacy, to someone he loves inflicting it on him. And not in a bad way, no, it's just that he'd begged for sex before, even when it physically hurt — he'd delighted in the aches and the stings and in attributing each one to a particular lover. 

But this? Using these tools regularly on himself in the hope that he could retrain his front hole to regain its elasticity? 

It's been a while since anyone had managed to work more than two fingers inside before insisting he was 'too tight, there's no give'; Armand would 'get hurt.' 

Simply put, this was a source of intimacy Armand isn't yet willing to concede. He is stubborn, if nothing else. It's not enough to have his hole touched or for Lestat, Louis, or Daniel to rub against him and press their tip to his hole to ensure some cum made it in. 

[i-may-be-paranoid]

had a breakdown over putting on clean bedsheets which turned into a breakdown about being invisibly disabled which turned into a breakdown about the various small seemingly-normal-at-the-time ways my mother fucked me up and inadvertently taught me that 1) I was responsible for her emotional reactions to me even as a kid so it was on me to keep her from yelling at me and 2) the only way to avoid pain/conflict was to never be vulnerable or talk about things that actually mattered to me

some examples:

when she noticed I particularly liked a food she would remove it from the pantry and lock it in her closet so she could dole it out as a reward for doing what she wanted. I caught on to this and stopped talking about my favorite snacks or eating too many of them in front of my parents. this worked too well and they stopped buying more because they thought I didn't like them anymore. I should mention this is about several different foods over a long period of time

any time I asked for something I wanted, she said "yes - if you're good." this would, of course, be her answer forever no matter how "good" I was, until I finally realized that it was just a carrot on a stick and "yes, if you're good" just meant "no" and resolved to get what I wanted on my own (or as my parents liked to put it, "behind our backs"). I had minor success in getting her to quantify "being good" into a concrete set of requirements, but even still, I once asked her point-blank if "if you're good" just meant "when I feel like it," and she said yes. she has some pretty mask-off moments when she's angry. I still hate the word "incentive"

this one's pretty much just a Thing Parents Do, but it's worth mentioning - whenever we fought, she always went straight to taking away my phone (or at least remotely disabling my internet connection and all the apps except for the factory defaults on it). y'know, my sole connection to my friends and the world outside my house. as a young trans guy living with transphobic parents, this was particularly distressing

speaking of my phone, the same parental controls vpn they'd installed on it to do the above also allowed them to see every search term, every website I visited, in real time. and, of course, they could block websites (or, if I had broken their trust recently, block everything that wasn't explicitly whitelisted). goodbye, trevorspace. goodbye, google plus. they could see my texts, too. sometimes my mom would randomly take my phone and when I got it back a couple of contacts would be mysteriously missing (two that spring to mind are my sole irl trans friend at the time, who my parents thought had somehow retroactively transed my gender even though we really only became closer friends when we came out to each other, and the trans lifeline. yeah the suicide hotline). actually, that's how my parents found out I was trans! they caught me taking selfies, something I never did (therefore making it suspicious behavior), and went through my photos and found a ton of trans pride graphics. I had felt confident for once because I was binding with two boho bandeaus, packing with a sock, and hiding most of my hair in a beanie. I was going to come out to them the next week, on my thirteenth birthday. probably would've just ruined my birthday in hindsight

I could rant about my parents' transphobia for days, but I'd rather not. I've done that before and I'm too tired to do it again. this post is mainly just a way of documenting abusive behaviors for next time I tell myself it "wasn't that bad". anyway my mom would regularly rifle through my physical belongings too. I learned not to hide important things in my room

and speaking of my room she would sometimes remove my bedroom and/or bathroom doors for taking too long in the shower and stuff like that. and I had to earn it back by - you guessed it - Being Good™

oh also I should probably mention those times she screamed "you have no privacy" or (at a slightly later date) "we own you" in my face over and over again even when I started crying and begging her to stop. for the crime of complaining that I felt like my privacy was being violated. after a week or so, I felt like I'd cooled down enough to tell her that when she'd yelled "you have no privacy" at me, I felt really hurt. because that's what I was supposed to do, right? that's the diplomatical format they'd told me to voice my complaints in. this led to a second "you have no privacy" incident, same as the first. after one of these incidents, dad was there to mediate, which meant that instead of another screaming match there was a pointless semantic argument over whether she was really yelling "in my face" and exactly what the distance between her and the edge of my bed had been. at least there were no tape measures involved though lol

this brings me to the whole blaming-fights-on-me thing. most fights sprung from either a disagreement between my mother and I about something important (such as my own identity or what I thought was fair) or my struggles to do things my peers could do just fine due to my adhd. I was so bad at getting ready for things on time. even now, on medication, I struggle with daily hygiene. this was very frustrating for my mother, and she often ended up yelling at me. she could say some very unkind things "in the heat of the moment", as she would say. if I yelled back, I was punished. when I tried to express how deeply her words hurt me in an attempt to repair our relationship and get closure and reassurance… she took it personally and the fight started all over again. and I was punished again. this would sometimes result in a chain of related fights over a period of weeks. eventually, my parents told me that if I didn't want to start a fight, I should structure my complaints like so: "when you did x, I felt y." such language would avoid making anyone feel accused or defensive, they said. it made no difference. I used the correct format, shit went down anyway, I was told I should've used the correct format if I didn't want to start a fight, and so on

my therapist at the time (girl I miss u also sorry my mom fired you for trying to convince her to accept my transness) suggested that, when my mother raised her voice at me, I should remain outwardly emotionless and resist the urge to talk back to her or raise my own voice, and see what happens. I tried it once and she called me "a psychopath and a sociopath" for not yelling back. can't win

things really only calmed down because I concluded that asserting myself wasn't worth it. it was safer to go back into the closet and keep my head down for four more years until I was legally my very own person. my mom once said she knew me better than I knew myself. I could only laugh. it's not that I gave up completely, though - I just stopped openly rebelling. I figured out (limited, but lifesaving) ways around the parental controls. I visited trevorspace on my laggy old ipod that wouldn't stay logged in to let my friends there know that I was alive, but wouldn't be able to talk to them anymore. I stole it back a couple times when my mom found and confiscated it. there eventually came a point where her reaction to its suddenly disappearing from her drawer outweighed having it back, but by then the parental controls had become so buggy that I could almost have a normal internet experience. after I turned 18, I finally convinced my parents to allow me to remove it for good (I'd long since figured out that it had a digital tamper alarm). I'm still dependent on them, but I don't have to be secretive anymore, which feels weird. sometimes I boast to them about the extent of the freedom I'd carved out "behind their backs" just for some spiteful pleasure. I think they already knew about most of my exploits with the vpn, they just couldn't do much about it. but I don't tell them everything - I don't want them spying on my online accounts again, and I want to still have a few tricks up my sleeve if things somehow get bad again. they still make me apologize, but it's not like the aftermath of a fight. wow I'm getting off topic

alright so there's also how my mom dealt with my self-harm addiction: not well. she made me promise to stop, and when she discovered that I didn't, she got pissed. she kept telling me how I'd promised her, how betrayed she felt, how could I do this to her… and I was the one who was bleeding. I just felt worse so I (this is becoming repetitive) got better at hiding. funny thing is, almost every time I cut was to calm down after she yelled at me!

another victim-blaming anecdote - one time in 2018-19, I was drying off after a long shower. this consisted of wrapping myself in a towel and sitting on the toilet lid to zone out for half an hour. I had nothing to do that night except climb into bed. what I did not know was that mom was waiting impatiently for me to come out so she could give me my nightly meds. she became more and more frustrated, and ended up berating me through the door. the quote that stuck with me was "even a 2-year-old could get this done faster," which, when I type it out, actually doesn't sound all that scathing. dad came in soon after that. I tried to make them aware of how hurt she had made me feel, I even used the special Fight-Preventing Format, but I was completely ignored in favor of calls to come out of the bathroom and the occasional phone-confiscation threat. I repeated myself a few times, and eventually, she told me that if I didn't want to be insulted, I should've finished drying off sooner. dad was here for all of this and agreed with her. this helped me to realize how complicit the "mediator" was in all this shit. at some point I started crying, and I'd made it clear that I wasn't going to come out while they were out there - which prompted my mother to stage whisper to my father (so loudly I could hear it through the door) her catchphrase at the time: "she's just being manipulative." this did not make me feel any more cooperative

I can't believe I forgot to mention the gaslighting! every time I tried to bring up a time she'd said something that hurt me - even a day later! - she'd act all shocked and say she couldn't imagine ever saying something like that and act like just because she didn't remember it must not have been real. this eventually led me to believe that I was subconsciously making up reasons to hate her, because there were no real reasons to hate her, and I wanted to hate her in the first place because I was actually evil and she was perfect and good. needless to say, this bred a lot of self-loathing. and then an Incident would happen and I would be lucid for like a day and then slip right back into the cognitive dissonance. this happened for about a year when I was 14. I only found out the truth because I found a transcript of one of those fights from directly after it had happened in a google hangouts conversation (with the aforementioned trans friend) that my mom thought I'd deleted but I'd really just archived it. I had also tried to record our fights in the past, but the vpn that took away apps and internet also took the camera function with it. it was practically an abuser's toolkit. anyway this made me feel worse because if she could convince me that I was lying, she could convince anyone, so no one would ever believe me if I told them. instead of having a healthy, balanced worldview about it or something, I just flipped the old one on its head - she was the manipulator trying to control my life and mold me into the child she wanted, and I was the victim struggling to fight back. I'm glad I grew out of that. being so openly full of ire for her just made me look like a brat, and it was no way to live anyhow. I understand now that she genuinely loves me - and that it's exactly that love and worry for me that drove her to do things that hurt me. she thought she was doing what was best for me. unfortunately she didn't think to listen to my opinion or like see me as a full individual separate from herself

ftr her memory is genuinely kinda shitty because of her own adhd but it was awfully consistent in forgetting all the times she's emotionally scarred me. man this post was gonna be a lot shorter but then I started Remembering more Things. there's still more I've thought of but then forgotten while writing something else tho

hold on now I remember. last year she straight-up told me that all this time when I had said I didn't understand something that was "so simple, everyone understands it" she thought I was lying for the express purpose of pissing her off. this… explains a lot

overall I feel like she had an idea of what I should be like and she feels personally slighted whenever I remind her that I'm not the child she wanted

there's more but it's almost 3am and I am so tired I am barely able to type. do you love the color of the vent post

[anon-sect]

deviantart.com/kng79/art/Sweaty-gym-feet-1103149147

You Owe Me

Zane was sitting over at his friend Jackson's house. Both were watching tv together. Zane looked over at Jackson, wondering what his friend wanted. "What do I owe you?" He asked him.

Jackson looked over as he lowered the volume on the tv. "You owe me a favor. I have done many favors for you and never asked for one back." He spoke as he knew what he wanted of Zane

Zane remembered all the many favors that Jackson had done for him over time. It was true that he never asked for anything in return. So he guessed it was time to repay a favor after all this time. "What do you want?" He asked, willing to repay for all the times he really did help him out.

"You know how bad my feet do a number to my socks. I have to buy a new pair every two weeks." Jackson started out saying first.

"I get it, you want me to buy you a new pair of socks?" Zane asked. He thought that was a reasonable request. A pack of socks weren't that expensive to buy for his friend. He knew Jackson worked out every day. Some days it was intense workout and other days it was light. HIs friend was 5'11' tall with a muscular athletic frame and a size 11 feet. He had often heard him complain about buying socks so much.

"Actually, you don't have to buy me any pairs of socks. There is something I want to try. It would just be for a month basis to see if it really is true." Jackson spoke, leading up to what he wanted to request.

"Okay, I am game. Tell me." Zane asked, being very curious.

"Well, I heard that living matter makes the best material for transformed objects. I just need you to let me borrow you for a month as my socks. If you last longer than two weeks without being ruined, than I know it will work." Jackson paused. "After one month, I will change you back to normal and find someone else to be my socks. So, what do you say?" He laid down his proposal for a favor owed.

Zane thought about his request. He would have rather bought him socks than be his actual socks. He had caught a whiff of his gym socks before, and it didn't smell great to him. The thought of that being his fate wasn't pleasant. "Can't I just buy you multiple packs of socks instead?" He asked back. That sounded better to him than actually becoming socks.

Jackson shook his head. "Socks last me about two weeks at the most and some don't even make it that far before I have a hole in the toes or heel. I just want to see if what I heard is true." He paused and looked directly into Zane's eyes. "I have done over five favors for you and not ask for one thing yet. I think you owe me." He added with a serious look in his eyes.

Zane saw he had no escape from the request presented to him. Jackson had indeed got him out of a bind on many occasions. "Just one month, no more." He reluctantly spoke up. He didn't really want to do it, but he did actually owe him.

"Good, just hold still." Jackson spoke as he pointed his phone camera at Zane and hit the flash option. Zane was gone and in his place was a brand-new pair of grey socks for his size 11 feet. He picked them up and sniffed them. They smelled fresh and new. "That new scent won't be there long after a couple of days." He laughed at the socks in his hands. He put the socks on his bare feet and walked around the room. They were very comforting to his feet so far. He was looking forward to testing the rumor he heard about living object.

Zane was in a nightmare. Jackson's feet were causing him so much pain being walked on as normal looking socks. The fact that the scent of his friend's feet was so much more intense now that he was literally wrapped around his feet. The fact that Jackson thought it was funny that he won't smell so fresh and new after a couple days scared him. He was not mentally prepared for lay ahead of him.

ONE WEEK PASSED BY..........

Jackson took his socks off after an intense gym session. The socks reeked of his foot sweat odor, but there were no holes or tears. The stitching still looked good. There was no thinning at all present. Normally after one week, there was always damage. He really started to think the rumors were actually true.

Zane was mentally pleading for any help to take him away from Jackson's feet. It was horrible. The constant pounding was giving him a mental headache. He was trapped in one stinky pair of shoes after another. Jackson had seven pairs of workout shoes that he wore for a different day of the week and each pair smelled like something rotten died in it. He was trapped in them for the entire gym session every jog and run. To make thing worse, Jackson would wear him even when he wasn't working out. So, he was forced to endure more stinky shoe prisons that weren't his workout shoes. He didn't speak to him or even acknowledge his existence on his feet. He made him feel just like what he was a pair of socks. He didn't like his new existence as just a pair of socks on his friend's feet. He was so looking forward to when the month would finally be done.

THREE WEEKS PASSED BY.......

Zane was barely hanging on mentally. In addition to being worn every day for the past three weeks since being turned into socks, Jackson would jack off in him and use him as a cum rag without a single thought. He couldn't fathom his friend would completely degrade him like this just to see if human transformed objects last longer than normal objects.

Zane mentally screamed for anyone to hear his plea as Jackson wore him for nearly everything. He didn't know if his mind could last a full thirty days at the mercy of Jackson and his feet. He saw wanted out of this favor returned so badly.

Jackson was truly amazed. Other that the smell of his feet saturating the socks, they were in very good condition. Normally, there would be both a hole in the toes and heel by now. Every pair of socks he owned were like that. This was the very first pair that took the beating from his feet and was still holding on. He saw the rumors were true. Human transformed objects or clothing last way much longer.

FOUR WEEKS AND TWO DAYS PASSED BY.......

Jackson finally washed his most durable pair of socks before putting them back on his feet. He finally had the perfect pair of socks he had been looking for. Now, he just needed more of them. He knew just how to have the perfect pair of socks to wear. Zane was his very first pair. He held the freshly clean socks in his hands. "You help proved a rumor was true. I appreciate that, buddy. Yet, sadly, that doesn't work in your favor. Now that I know human transformed clothing is way more durable. I simply can't let go of you. You are the first pair of durable clothes I will own. You and my feet will be best buds." He laughed as he put his socks back on his feet.

"But I promise to wash you from now own. You won't be my only pair of human source clothing. Others will join you. But you will always be my favorite pair of socks. In fact, every workout session, run and jog, or simply working out at home will be you on my feet. You are so lucky." Jackson added as he was preparing to go running.

Zane mentally cried as he was told his permanent fate. This was the fate he dreaded would happen. He already knew it was running time. He couldn't stand running time. All he hoped for was that he would have a hole in him so that Jackson would end his torment at his feet.

Hi, I love your stories. I found this image and wanted you to see it so you can use it if you want. deviantart.com/kng79/art/Sweaty-gym-feet-1103149147

[deadboyfriendd]

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞. | E.M.

Summary: Eddie never catches their names, the women he sleeps with- so he names them himself. When he catches you in passing, he names you Kate.

Warnings: Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader, Perv!Eddie if you squint, unprotected p in v sex, cigarette and alcohol usage, language

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: This is based off of the song Kate by Sean Kennedy. Literally so good.

He remembered all of them, cheap fucks- the price of them actually free, usually. The first couple times, he swore he was in love. The naivety of youth and the fresh break of virginity created a rose-tint that kicked his heart in the ass every night for months. But after a few more, he realized that he actually just liked the idea of feeling wanted. No strings attached. No discrepancies of the boy-friendly woes like hand-holding or learning her name to worry about. 

He remembered all of them, cheap fucks- the price of them actually free, usually. The first couple times, he swore he was in love. The naivety of youth and the fresh break of virginity created a rose-tint that kicked his heart in the ass every night for months. But after a few more, he realized that he actually just liked the idea of feeling wanted. No strings attached. No discrepancies of the boy-friendly woes like hand-holding or learning her name to worry about. 

All women in passing, faces in a somber crowd. Maybe they wanted the same thing that he did- to feel something for just a second. He figured a lot of them just wanted to feel pretty again. 

He felt bad at first, taking advantage of them in skeezy bar bathrooms and in the back of his van, knowing that he was capable of much more than that, but the feelings numbed alongside the tenderness of being touched that way. Love didn’t just lose its meaning. Love was the worst curse he could think of. Love was something he had never known. Love kicked his heart in the ass one too many times. 

He decided that love was never a bitch he would get to know, that was until Kate walked in. 

It was in passing first. It was still early enough that the streets and sidewalks of Hawkins, Indiana remained relatively unburdened. The latch-key hour was for his morning stroll, post-black-coffee-camel hanging from his two fingers, ash teetering dangerously off the end. You came brushing past, inherently unremarkable. You didn’t meet his eye when you walked past, though, he couldn’t quite tell with the sunglasses that covered the top half of your face. 

You were West Hollywood. You walked like Sunset Strip. You smelled all of the romantic parts of a skeezy, intoxicated one night stand after a Whiskey A Go-Go show, the ambergris bourbon and cardamom seeping through his nose like a cancer. You were the entire crowd, and one person all at once. He could feel the stage light burning red hot against him as the bass crescendo rolled through your body. In his brain, the show was your legs thrown over his shoulders. 

He shook his head, rattling the thought out of his ears like a set of dice on the upholstery of a Vegas craps table. Falling in love- or lust- with a stranger in passing wasn’t his style, yet here he was, die firmly sat on seven. 

Preemptively, Eddie named you Kate. 

Kates were nice girls. Kates wore frilly ankle socks and mary janes and their boyfriend’s letter jackets. Kates did their homework, went to college, made it home by curfew. Kates loved their parents and taught Sunday school. Kates steered clear of boys like Eddie. 

 But Eddie loved ruining girls like Kate. 

+

As quick as Kate flooded his mind, Kate was just as quick to leave. He didn’t pine. He didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel anything.

Until the ambergris bourbon of the Sunset Strip turned into black coffee and cigarettes and unfiltered morning light, tucked in between the glue-laden binding of trashiest Cosmo edition you could get your hands on. 

His eyes started at your ankles, watching the way you swung the crossed mass back and forth in a mindless rhythm, allowing the sole of your shoe to scrape against the concrete. He watched their way your body folded into itself comfortably- in a way that he speculated only women knew how to do. He saw how your eyelashes nearly kissed the apples of your cheeks as you looked down to read, chin against your palm that was propped against your knee. 

You looked so peaceful, and Eddie loved disturbing the peace. 

He gripped his coffee in his hands, relinquishing the burn of the hot liquid barely filtered by the paper cup to ground him out. His feet, like cement weights, dragged towards you. 

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, and you jumped slightly, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” He apologized quickly, already starting to turn on his heel. The symphony of stupid already rattling around in the pink matter of his brain. 

“Oh! No! I just didn’t notice you walking up.. Go ahead, sit!” You said, overly-friendly and not wanting to cause him any emotional distress. 

He pulled the chair in front of the outdoor table back, the cast iron scraping disgustingly on the concrete and wobbling slightly as he sat. He took another drag off of his cigarette, before eyeing your magazine. 

“Whatcha’ readin’?” He asked, nonchalantly, and you giggled, flipping the magazine over to the front. 

Cindy Crawford splayed across the front of the magazine with a bright orange cover, hair elegantly windblown and delivering the most sensual bedroom eyes that the Melvald’s had ever witnessed. 

Top Male Stars Tell What Turns Them On. Would You Believe a “Toothy Grin”? Was the first headline Eddie caught. He read it slowly, then panned his eyes back up to your beaming face, a similar toothy grin pulling at your corners of your mouth and pushing the flesh up beneath your eyes. 

Eddie didn’t read Cosmo, yet, he resonated that yes, absolutely, a toothy grin could, in-fact, turn him on. 

“Awful, isn’t it?” You asked him, giggle still lingering in your words. 

“Yeah.. it is.” He said, offering a nervous laugh back. He didn’t expect you to say it out loud, he thought that maybe you had actually been indulging in whatever garbage it had to offer. 

“But,” He started again, “If it's so bad, then why are you reading it?” He asked you. 

“I think it’s funny.” You said back to him, like it was obvious, “They’re literally just pages full of garbage about what men think women want.”

“Does anyone even take those things seriously?” He asked, arching a brow at the tabloid in suspicion. 

“I’m sure they do.” You said back to him, confidently. 

“So what do women want?” He asked, bravery coming to him in a sudden spurt. It blindsided you. 

“Other than a toothy grin?” You asked, half-sarcastically. 

“Is there anything else a woman could possibly want?” He questioned back. 

“Oh sure. Lots of things.” 

“Like what?”

“A cigarette, for starters.” 

He released a breathy laugh, flipping the box open, lighting it, and passing it over to you. 

While you were talking about double-standards and patriarchies, he was taking in the features of your face. He didn’t mean to focus so intently on your lips as they closed around the filter, or the unknowing sensuality of the way you rolled the cigarette between your index and middle fingers. You released a soft french inhale from your lips, and he so desperately wished that it was him that replaced the smoke billowing from your mouth. 

To be completely honest, Eddie didn’t care what women wanted unless it was you that wanted him. 

“So, what about you?” 

The question drew him back up for air, pulling the cotton from his ears in a blindsided panic. 

“What?” He asked, quickly shaking his previous thoughts from his head. 

“What do men want?” You asked, not taking notice of his momentary panic. Instead, you rested your chin in your palm. 

“Well I can’t answer for all men, but this man wants a pretty girl watching his show on Tuesday.” He said back to you, smoothly. 

He didn’t catch your name. 

+

The Hideout was dingy, to say the least, but it has its own distinct, homely charm. The people in it were friendly enough, aside from the odd drunken skeeze- but you figured every rose has its thorn. 

By the time you strolled in, the band had already been playing. You sat yourself down in the very back up against the bar, away from the tables hosting other patrons. The bartender was a nicer older woman, the kind that called you baby and healed whatever emotional trauma your parents might have given you. She poured your water-spotted lowball glass with Patron Silver, the edge rimmed with salt and garnished with a lime. 

You are a republic of voices tonight, watching as the mysterious man you seemed to almost kind-of like bounced around on stage. He flipped his hair back, sweat cascading off of the ends like glitter and the stage light casting a halo around his head. 

You met his eye, and relished in the comfort of your dark corner, avoiding the stage lights from catching your fact at all costs. It was as if the harsh, angling light will turn you to flesh and bone. Mortality will pierce you through the retina. 

And much to your demise, the pink lighting does catch your face. You don’t vaporize. Eddie sees your face, and the way the light illuminates the space behind your corneas, casting a monochromatic glow over the top portion of your body. He throws a wink you’re way and, even though there’s realistically no one in here who would be on the receiving end of that wink aside from you, you question if it was. 

The songs are loud. The music is abrasive. You don’t know the words, but you wish you did. You liked the way it rang in your ears- you liked the way Eddie rang in your ears. 

The last song is different from the rest of them. By now, most of the other people had filed out and the bartender idly wiped down the countertops. The song was sultry, his voice took on a hum much different than the loud, boisterous tone he took on previously. 

“Kate… Likes to hear her name out loud. 

Kate… Likes it when I use my mouth….”

You watched him intently, deft fingers plucking over acoustic guitar strings. His legs were braced against the stool, jeans stretching over his spread thighs. He watched you this time, your sweet face pressed into your soft palm. You had kind eyes, and he tried not to think about watching them roll back in fucked-out bliss as he played. 

By the time the song was over, there was a tension between you that could be scooped with a spoon. He quickly pulled the strap of his guitar off from around his neck and made his way towards where you sat. You decided quickly that you needed liquid courage, licking the side of your glass and dumping the remnants of tequila into your mouth. 

“You came?” He asked you, outstretching his long arms to encase you in a bone-crushing hug. 

“What… were you expecting me to run in the other direction?” You asked with a breathy laugh, in part because he squeezed it out of you. 

“Honestly a little bit.” He said back, giving you the same laugh you offered, though his was more guttural. 

You sat at the bar for a bit, giving each other a good back and forth rhythm. You spoke about nothing in particular, and everything all at once. FInally, you had built up enough courage- so greatly donated to your person by Patron Silver- to ask,

“So… Whose Kate?”

He froze for a second, like he didn’t know how to respond. 

“Oh… just a girl I met a while ago.”

“She sounds interesting.”

“She is interesting.”

+

You don’t know how you ended up at Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

Actually, you knew exactly how you ended up back at Forest Hills Trailer Park.

What you couldn’t recall, is how Eddie had managed to sweet talk his way under your shirt, out of your jeans, and in between your legs (even though you actually kind of knew that, too.)

Despite his abrasive nature and equally abrasive exterior, he was soft with your body. His hands were gentle, and his kisses were feather-light. He held you like glass. He pressed hot kisses down your throat, your collarbones and sternum. He lapped gently at your pert nipples, pebbling them softly beneath his tongue. His fingertips ghosted over your hips and over the rounds of your thighs. But his mouth was foul.  

“You taste like fucking candy.” He groaned, though muffled by your thighs as he licked a crude, wet stripe in between your folds. 

He rolled his tongue over your clit and you cried the prettiest sound he had ever heard. 

He realized that his previous sentiments in naming you Kate were incorrect- or maybe that he was wrong about Kates everywhere. 

Kate was pretty, and she left her perfect clothes in a perfect pile on his bedroom floor. Kate didn’t have frilly socks, instead her bare ankles hung around his shoulders as he kissed her thighs. Kate drank chilled Patron Silver and smoked stolen camels- but only in the morning and only with coffee. Kate loved when boys like Eddie sang about her on stage. Kate liked having her pussy eaten. 

Kate also felt more human than the other girls he took against the wall. 

“Baby, you’re so wet for me.” He sighed against your thigh, momentarily relieving you of the intense pressure building against your clit as he slid his middle and ring finger past your entrance. 

You let out a sigh, hands reaching down to grasp the pillowy dough of your own thighs as he curled his fingers within you. They brushed that beautiful spongy spot over and over again. His spare hands curled over the fingers that gripped your thighs, sweetly. 

Your orgasm came as a flood, intense pleasure beginning at your core and radiating through your body. He continued to work his fingers through your apex and pressed hot honey kisses to your shaking thighs. 

“You ready for my cock, sweetheart?” He asked, sitting up on his knees and rubbing your thighs between his heavy hands, tenderly. 

“”M ready.” Was all you could muster in your still-floaty state. He chuckled softly, pulling his belt off. 

You watched the way his alabaster skin stretched over his bones like leather. As he pulled his jeans and boxers off, clumsily, you also watched his pretty cock. Pink at the tip with significant length and girth, a pearlescent bead of precum gathering at the tip. Eddie really was very pretty. 

He worked two fingers into you slowly, feeling out your sensitivity. When he deemed you ready, he slid the tip in, slowly. You moaned softly at the dull ache and stretch. 

“There we go, baby, s’good for me. Taking it so well.” He said to you, softly, heavy grand gripping your hip. You squeezed his own with your knees. 

As he began to rock, there was an ex cathedra riff coming down from the Vatican: Repent. Your body is the temple of the Lord and you have defiled it. It is, after all, Sunday morning, and as long as you have any brain cells left there will be a resonant patriarchal basso echoing down the marble vaults of your churchgoing childhood to remind you that this is the Lord's Day.

“You feel so good babe, so- fuck- tight on my cock.” His words combined with the heavy thrust of his body entwined with yours reeled you back into reality. His grip on your hips tightened, less soft than before. You knew he felt it, too. 

As he came, the oiled ellipses of his hips and shoulders tightened, warm ropes of cum coating your slick walls. Your second orgasm following is only a few seconds behind. 

He collapsed on to you, dramatically, resting his head in between the valley of your breasts. His breaths were heavy still, and his skin shone with a sheen of sweat that made him glow. His cheeks were tinted pink and his eyelashes kissed with his smile. 

When he came down, he lifted his head to meet your eyes. 

“My name’s not Kate, by the way.”

[messers-moony]

Nothing Left | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Everything crashes within seconds and Sirius doesn’t know where to go. 

Everything went downhill so fucking fast. How was that even possible? Everything was perfectly fine a year ago, but it seems that within that year, everything had collapsed onto the helpless boy. It was like being beneath a crumbling concrete tower that fell with no warning. Like being slapped in the face unexpectedly. Like getting doused in freezing water on a Sunday morning. 

In retrospect, it sucked. 

Sirius Black would know first hand. His entire life had been a screw-up from the beginning. It started with his parents, who - at the start - loved him. But when he turned out to be the child they never wanted all that love had vanished. They tortured him, broke him piece by piece, they built up trauma that took years for him to express to his friends. It wasn’t until third year when they heard him crying alone in his four-poster bed and asked what was wrong. He could remember the comforting embrace James Potter had given him. 

Nevertheless, it never ended there. The summer going into his sixth year, Sirius decided it was enough after too many Cruciatus Curses and body binding curses; enough was enough. His hands were trembling after enduring just ten minutes of the torture curse, and it was a struggle, but he packed everything he could. His heart broke at inevitably leaving his little brother behind. He could only hope that Regulus would understand. 

It took a Knight Bus trip to the Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow. The sky could’ve resembled how Sirius felt. Back at Grimmauld Place Twelve, the sky was always cloudy and rainy. Godric’s Hollow allowed the sun to shine past the fluffy clouds, but tonight was different. The sky was dark and thick, black clouds covered the stars. Rain poured from them, and it pittered on the stone roads. Sirius was instantly drenched when he stepped off the Knight Bus. 

Hesitantly he made his way to the door, where he knocked softly. The house was two stories and was a relatively big family home - not bigger than Grimmauld Place - but an average family home. The house was a mixture of grey, dark purples, and brown. It reminded Sirius of Remus’ patched jumpers. Sirius could hear movement from behind the plum door, and it opened to reveal a familiar face. James Potter with his messy hair, hazel eyes, and long limbs. James was muscular, but he was also tall, not Remus tall but taller than Sirius. 

James didn’t speak and ushered him inside. The following morning at breakfast, Euphemia - Mrs. Potter - had given Sirius the excellent news of his new forever home. The Potters would never forget the way Sirius lit up and how a smile had taken over his face. Sirius didn’t remember being this happy except for when Regulus was born. 

But his forever home was not forever. 

In seventh year, James’ parents had died, and nobody had comforted Sirius except one person who attempted. James had Lily, and that was enough for him. Perhaps it was selfish to think that James should be comforting him. It was definitely selfish. Sirius was doing really good at hiding how he felt until he crumbled behind a tapestry near the dungeons. 

Sirius didn’t know if it was good or bad luck that Regulus - his prefect Slytherin brother - had found him behind that tapestry. Regulus had pulled back the fabric slowly with his wand lit. His face had softened at his older brother sobbing with his knees to his chest. Regulus allowed his wand light to extinguish before sitting in front of him in the same position, allowing their socks to touch at the tips. 

They sat there for a couple of minutes before Regulus moved closer, albeit hesitantly to sit beside Sirius. Regulus had his back against the concrete, and Sirius curled up onto him while the younger Black brother rubbed his older brother's back. Sirius cried harder and harder. It took an hour before he subdued to sniffles and whimpers, but Regulus took it as his time to speak. 

“I know they meant a lot to you,” Regulus stated, still rubbing his older brothers back, “And I don’t blame you for grieving them.”

Sirius sniffled, “I ought to be grateful for them, really.” Regulus released a sound that sounded like a chuckle, but it was so foreign to Sirius he couldn’t tell, “They kept you safe. Kept you away from mother and father. They gave you a home where you could finally be you.”

“And no matter how mad I want to be at them for taking you away from me,” Regulus admitted, “I just can’t be because they gave you everything you wanted, and I’ve never seen you happier in my life.”

Regulus didn’t stop talking, “You know… I- I found my own James Potter.”

Sirius looked up at Regulus with flushed cheeks, but his facial expression was baffled, and Regulus presented him with a small smile, “Okay, maybe she isn’t my ‘James Potter’ per se because I don’t see her as a sister but rather she’s my girlfriend.”

“What’s- What’s her name?” Sirius croaked; his throat was so raw from crying. 

“Y/n L/n.”

“A- A Gryffindor?”

Regulus made that sound again, “Yeah. A stupidly brave one too. Even worse.”

Sirius smiled, “I know her.”

“Don’t tell me she was one of your conquests.” Regulus grimaced, and Sirius chuckled, snuggling back into Regulus’ chest, “No, she wasn’t. It turns out she has the hots for the other Black brother.”

Regulus smiled, and they allowed the silence of the castle to consume them. It was dark in the corridor on the other side of the tapestry, and Regulus could see the faint moonlight peaking out. He could also imagine the stars glittering beautifully in the midnight sky. He could see the star Sirius shining brighter than ever, and he just wanted his brother to feel the same. 

“I plan to marry her.” Regulus said before he could stop the words from falling from his mouth.

“What happens then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother and father will never approve.”

Regulus scoffed, “I’m done with their bullshit and have been for quite a while.”

Sirius met his brother's eyes again, “I left right after you. It turns out there is no more heir to the Black family name.”

The older Black brother smiled brightly and tightened his grip on his younger brother. Regulus couldn’t remember feeling this warm since they were little boys running around the backyard. Sirius was practically on top of him, and that was okay. For now, everything seemed okay again. Maybe Euphemia and Fleamont were gone, but even in their deaths, they managed to benefit Sirius’ life. 

Now it all seemed fruitless. 

Only a couple of months later, Sirius and Regulus had gotten into a huge kerfuffle. It ended with screaming, raw throats, tears, and flushed cheeks. Sirius could remember how Regulus playfully mocked his and Remus’ relationship. He didn’t know exactly what happened, just that he was pouncing for his little brother, and Remus was holding him back. Sirius had yelled some very awful things that he couldn’t take back. 

She hadn’t done anything. She didn’t even know that an argument had happened. Y/n had been reading in the common room when the book was flung out of her hand, and she was pushed against the stone wall of the Gryffindor Tower. Y/n met eyes with stormy grey ones, not unlike her lovers, but these weren’t her lovers. These were his elder brother's eyes, and he had lifted her off the floor against the wall until James had pulled Sirius off her. 

Y/n hit the floor with a thud and repeatedly coughed, hands on her throat. James had stormed into the boy's dormitory with Sirius with him. She didn’t even understand what was happening not until she met up with Regulus in the prefect dorm, and he saw the marks on her neck. Sirius had taken it too far, and Regulus was furious. They were no longer on speaking terms. 

Now Sirius had someone entirely different to grieve. 

Sirius had felt like his heart hit the floor when he was forced to move out of James’ house with Lily due to Harry being born. Remus had moved away to take care of his sick mother and asked for privacy. The funds that had previously been in Sirius’ account had been squandered, and now he was paying the price. 

He had absolutely nowhere to go. Truthfully, there was one place he could go, but he didn’t think he’d ever be accepted there. He had said unforgivable things, but James had given him enough confidence that it would be okay. Reluctantly, Sirius Black took the Knight Bus to the suburbs in London. The community felt so modern and new. It was different then Godric’s Hollow which had been around for so many years that it began to weather and erode. 

The deja vu was hitting him like a brick. Their house was a mixture of grey, black, white, and maybe blue - Sirius couldn’t tell in the darkness if it was white or pale blue. Perhaps he’d find out tomorrow if he was even welcomed inside. Sighing and shivering, Sirius knocked on the door. He could hear little squeals of delight that sounded much like a child. He also heard talking, but he froze when the door opened. 

Regulus Black, at the age of twenty-two, looked good. His hair was to his jaw, and it was wavy at the ends, whereas Sirius’ was much more straight. His eyes had turned silver over the years. His cheeks looked much fuller, and he looked a lot better. Regulus was no longer looked underweight, but he was still slim and skinny. Black family genes, Sirius supposed. Sirius couldn’t meet his brother's eyes. 

“What do you want, Sirius.” 

His name falling from Regulus’ mouth instead of a nickname hurt more than he expected, “I had nowhere else to go…”

Regulus scoffed, “James finally kick you out, eh?”

“Yeah, he did.” Sirius sounded so distant, “Perhaps it was about time, and here I am, at your doorstep.”

“Come on, Sirius.” Regulus motioned for him to come in, and Sirius did. 

The house was much cozier inside. The floors were dark wood, almost black. The living room - on Sirius’ left - was a darker turquoise color with grey furniture. The dining room - on Sirius’ right - was a light grey. The furniture was a marble table, white wood chairs with cushions, and a beautiful light fixture. Regulus led him to the kitchen, which was straight ahead in the hallway. 

It was a beautiful mint green color with black and white furniture. The appliances were primarily black and the furniture primarily white, but regardless, it was beautiful. They had another table in the kitchen that was a grey wood instead of the shiny marble in the dining room but nevertheless screamed elegance. Sirius sat at one of the barstools at the L of the counter. Regulus slid him a cup of tea. 

“Your house is beautiful.” Sirius complimented, and Regulus placed the cup back into the saucer, “Thank you. My wife picked everything out for the most part. I either built it or painted it.” Regulus smiled. 

“Your wife?”

Regulus hummed, “Y/n Black. Ring any bells?”

Sirius swallowed, “Yeah.”

They both took a sip of tea, “I have two kids too. Both boys.”

“Two?!“ Sirius nearly spat out the liquid he had just taken a sip of. 

“Twins. Fraternal, thankfully.”

He placed the cup down, “What’re their names?“

“Perseus Regulus Black and Leo Alphard Black.”

“Perseus and Leo, huh?“

Regulus blushed, “It wasn’t my idea. It was Y/n’s.”

“I like them,” Regulus looked up at him, “The names. I’m sure they fit them too.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t long until footsteps began to echo coming down the steps. Y/n had grown up too. Her face was sharper and her curves more defined. If Sirius was honest, she didn’t look like she had kids at all. To be fair, he wasn’t really staring at Y/n but more so his brother. Regulus had a starstruck expression as his wife walked towards him. He had a dopey smile on his face and stars in his eyes. Regulus really loved her, and Sirius could tell, hell, anyone could. 

Y/n stopped in her tracks at seeing Sirius, “What’s he doing here?” 

Regulus placed an arm around her waist, “He came looking for a place to stay. While I was waiting for you, I decided to catch up with him for a little.”

Sirius looked guilty, “Ultimately, I’m leaving this decision up to you.” 

Y/n sighed and looked at both brothers. She thought of what he did back at Hogwarts. She thought of how Regulus had cried and ached for his brother, wishing for their relationship to be back the way it was. She thought of her two children who always asked about their Uncle Sirius, who was never around. 

“Sirius,” Y/n began, and Sirius held his breath, “Where will you go if I were to say no?”

Sirius looked at his lap, “The streets.”

He couldn’t hear the footsteps that approached him until soft hands lifted his head where he met soft e/c eyes, “I’m willing to look past everything that happened at Hogwarts for the sake of my children. They deserve their uncle. But I need you to show me that I can trust you and that you won’t cause trouble.”

“I’ll do anything.” Sirius complied, and Regulus smirked, “Don’t say that. She’ll have you remodel something.”

“You’re an asshole.” Y/n whirled, and Regulus continued to smirk, “I told you to use magic, and you said we should do it the Muggle way.”

He shrugged, “We got good memories out of doing it the Muggle way.”

“If getting paint all over me counts as good memories, then sure.”

“It does.” Regulus smiled, “Your face was priceless.”

“Dickhead.” She muttered. 

Sirius grinned, “Well, Sirius. If Y/n lets you stay, then you’re welcome here. What I did back at Hogwarts was uncalled for, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mocked you and Remus.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” Regulus countered solemnly, “Had I not done that; then we could’ve had a better relationship. For that, I’m sorry.”

Sirius stood up and hugged Regulus tight, “New beginnings?”

“New beginnings.” Regulus smiled. 

Regulus led Sirius up the wooden stairs up to the second story. It seemed to have had four bedrooms and two bathrooms, one in the master bedroom, one in the hallway, not including the one downstairs. On the end of the left side was a door leading to the master bedroom. On the right end was a cabinet and two doors across from one another. Then in the middle of the back was a door leading to another bedroom which Regulus had opened. 

The bedroom was spotless and beautiful. It was painted a grey with purple undertone with a queen-sized bed. Most of the furniture was white, and the bedding was black. Sirius had brought his trunk to its normal size and placed it at the end of the bed. Regulus smiled as Sirius looked around. 

“This is yours for as long as you want it.” Regulus stated softly snd Sirius had tears in his eyes, “Thank you.”

Sirius hugged his brother again, “I really mean it, thank you.”

“I love you, Sirius.” Regulus confessed, “You’ll always be my brother. The one who held me during thunderstorms. The one who sewed up my teddy bear when it had gotten ripped. The one who took the blame so I wouldn’t get punished.”

Sirius was gripping the back of his shirt tightly, “That stuff doesn’t just go away.”

They parted, and Regulus smiled, “Get some sleep. I’m sure you’d like to see the boys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to meet my nephews.” Sirius admitted smiling brightly. 

“Get some sleep, Siri.” 

“You too, Reggie.”

[muffindaddystyles]

Can you write overprotective long hair harry imagine?? Like he always hovers the reader when she is doing something or even nothing. Or when she needs to run errands he always go with even though its not required. And when reader fell sick he is full on mommy daddy mode dom!h vibes

A/N: OOPS I GOT EXCITED AND WENT OVERBOARD WITH IT :D

Harry’s awfully sweet. He’s a literal sweetheart with those marble sepia eyes, hazelnut curls and that big golden kind heart of his's.

But, to people he’s intimidating. From the black loiter of tattoos, a silver of piercing to the corner of his plush bottom lip and those long curls of his's that frays his broad strong shoulders turns everyone too giddy to talk to him and he's okay with that – bunch of loosers anyways whom he doesn’t want to waste his time on chit-chatting.

Then Y/N came into his life and his world flipped upside down, in a beautiful way (where he felt like floating into the crashing waves of crystal sea). It felt like she made him see the world through pink heart-shaped glasses and everyone’s just bursting into rainbows, puffaw! Boom! Their heads blasting with colourful confetti and ribbons.

Even though his slight grouchiness towards people lessened he still doesn’t gives two fucks before punching the shit out of someone if they in any way hurts, be rude and try to take physical and emotional advantage of, Y/N.

His bunny.

He’s too protective of her. And why wouldn’t he? She’s his everything. His little miracle and his hype-person, his lovie.

He’s the softest peach for her. The guy who walks and everyone scrambles away to give him a way, is whipped for his girlfriend.

He’s always having his strong arm looped around her waist when they’re out and walking, going to hold her hands instead if she’s too wiggly, keeping her close to his chest while he holds their coffees and sweets.

Whenever they’re doing grocery he’s always wheeling the cart around how much Y/N insists and pouts, he likes it that way. Hearing her blabber and skim her eyes down the ingredients labelled on the products then tossing it anyway with a shrug – makes him want to smooch her wet in kisses.

If they’re partying out with friends. Which they rarely do, (Y/N sometimes makes fun of them saying they’re getting too domestic day by day) he’s always having her put in his lap, his screwed up expression lazing when the alcohol starts to kick in and he’s just a blubbering mess of nonsense, and a very horn dog with his cock bloating up in his tight skinny jeans.

Not that he doesn’t let her have a breather and enjoy herself. He indeed does, they’ve a healthy relationship where they keep trust and faith in eachother.

But, sometimes he gets super jealous when people steal his little girlfriend away from him and once home he’s cuddling and oodling her, kissing her face all over with loud smacks and not letting her be away from him another second even it’s too bring him water or to get rid of his smelly socks.

Other times. When he’s particularly very jealous. The serious ones where Y/N unintentionally spends a tad more time at some of her classmates to wind up their upcoming project, he’s driving himself to pick her up and knocking at the door harshly and then dragging her out of there not letting her carry her stuff and huffing and puffing while throwing her things in the backseat.

Because Jeremy’s a sore rascal who’s shit at hiding his crush for Y/N and he should know better to whom she belongs. His innocent baby is too naive towards the possible hints and evil intentions of people.

“Oi. What got into you today?” She brushes the loose curl that escaped from his bun and let her fingers slide down his tight set angry jaw staring him a bit concerned upon seeing him this furious and ruffled up from nowhere.

“You’re mine,” Is all he'd respond. Smashing his lips against hers in a an ardent kiss and glide his palm down her ass to squeeze it and bring her closer grinning when she squeals into his mouth giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and kiss her deeper and sloppier.

“You’re a silly geese.” She giggles whisper into the mess of pecks and lock her elbows around his neck to give him an eskimo kiss.

“Watch y’mouth.” He glares her intensely loving the way Y/N gulps timidly bobbing her head.

“You’ll get a spanking today,” He always likes to warn her before hand. He wants her comfortable with him in every case and it’s downgrade monstrous to treat the person you love like a mean bitch out of blue -- so whenever she deserves a punishment he already announces her of it, warming her to the idea and giving her time to back away if she doesn’t want it.

“What did I’do now!” She whines and he nibbles onto his knuckle glancing her way in disbelief other hand on steering wheel, “What did y'do?” He asks her sternly. Spreading his palm over her thigh and squeezing it grimly.

“Did y'even care to look at the time, Y/N?” Oh boy. She’s in real trouble. Her name on his tongue never fails to turn her insides gooey and pause her heartbeat horribly. A red light for her to being bratty before she falls into the deep black dig of trouble.

Reaching home. He’s throwing her on the bed and demanding her to lay still on her tummy while he puts a pillow under her and spanks her bum sore with his rings imprinting her skin pink, though he never forgets to take care of her afterwards – putting a cool cream to soothe the burn and letting her sleep on his chest so she wouldn’t come in contact with the sheets as he kneads her asscheeks with gentle hands.

.

He could never have his hands to himself when she’s cooking and baking for them. Always, poking and prodding around having her head tucked under his chin, her embraced in his arms from back swaying them along to Hozier while she reads the recipe she wrote on one of the tiles.

“Stop!” She giggles, squirming in his arms when he blows raspberries against the dip of her neck and then creates growly noises biting and lapping into her skin, “You’re gonna burn our lunch!” She pressed her hips against his crotch to push him away and that warmed him more, delving his fingers more into her hips with a throaty groan.

“We could have a takeout.” His breath shuddery against her ear as he tries to pry the spatula away from her and kiss her grumpy whines down when the pots actually got burned, “I’ll wash and scratch them.” He’d assure picking her up and wrapping her legs around his hips and slipping his fingers in her hair to tug them and bring her mouth down against his’s to taste her.

“Wants to fuck you so bad, baby. My cock’s been weepy fo’ hours without your touch.” He groans, taking her hand and sneaking it inside his joggers to make her feel how stiff and erect he’s for her.

“I just gave you a blowie in the morning!”

“Blowie isn’t equivalent to fucking!”

.

“What y'readin,?” He scoots closer to her end of sofa with a smirk and towers over her trying to take a peek of whatever she’s reading with such intensity and then rake his warm palms up her calves to lay them over his thighs while he snuggles her wrapping a chonky blanket around them.

“Shhh baby girl, just want you to be more comfy.” He mumbles into her hair scratching his short nails against her scalp in soothing motions and watch her melt against his touch, eyes fluttering as she lurks dangerously to the verge of sleep.

“You always do that. Whenever the hot part’s about to come, you make me all sleepy.” She mutters laying her head against his clavicles gazing him up with hazy eyes, sighing in feign disappointment when he grins down at her in quite victory and gives her a sloppy kiss.

“What do y'need erotica fo’ baby? When your man’s the living walking momentum of sex.” He pouts, grazing his teeth down her neck and leaving a fresh hickey at her throat.

“That’s infact not, true. You’re such a cutie!” She beams up at him never failing to give him dancing butterflies in his stomach and he doesn’t admits it but he likes getting treated soft and gentle by his girlfriend.

“Such a shame. My own little love doesn’t find me sexy.” He grumps dramatically making her scramble hesitantly and turn to him in their tight embrace, cradling his face in her cold palms, “No. No. I find you sexy. I just don’t like sexualising you.” If Harry didn’t turn into a puddle before he indeed did now as he melted into her touch and kissed the inside of her hands lovingly.

“You’re sucha sap!” He whispers at her in fake offence and plant his lips against hers, patting her bum to make her hug him more tightly.

.

On cleaning and laundry day’s. He’s always helping her. As they scrub and mop the floors together, might fuck on them bubbly floors too if Harry’s lusty gaze remains on her spilling tits for too long.

“Thinks your floral bra needs a wash too, moppet.” His gradual attempts to lure her with his fingers stroking her thighs seductively always turns into a win when she nods shyly into his neck and let him have an easy access to her panties.

They’re always having a warm, full of essence bath together cleaning and washing the dirt off eachother after that.

Then sharing a cuppa tea while folding their clothes together on the bed and he’s always trying to tackle her into mattress when she laughs at his terribly folded clothes compared to her neatly binded ones.

“Your sucha menace,” He jests with his nose skewered up while he smacks her ass.

“Talk for yourself, Styles.” She retorts, tangling her knee around his waist and pulling him down into him. Puffing out relaxed breaths upon feeling safe and protected under his weight and Harry always smiles into the crook of her neck when she tries to cuddle him as if she wants to be his skin.

..

He’s the most daddiest when she’s drunk, sick or stressed.

Never letting her go out of his sight when she’s dancing on the floor with her friends. If some man even tries to approach her and breaths in her direction he’s sprinting towards her and pawing at her hips to situate her closer to him whilst blowing those potential guys off with a monotone expression.

“Harry! Do a lil dancey dance with me!” She giggles, making him sway with her and looking up at him with glassy floaty eyes.

“Bunny. ‘s late, time to go home.” He tells her, pinching her chin to plant his lips against hers and she squirms giving him a timid smile, “Okie. But I’ve to pee.”

“Me too!” Her friends chimes from behind her and Harry rolls his eyes playfully, gesturing all of them to follow him.

“C’mon you spies, not lettin’ ya’ll go alone.”

He waits for them outside the washroom while they do their business and he has his arms always splayed open for when his lovie comes back and he’s welcoming her in his embrace warmly with a sweet smile.

Dying with fond injecting in his every vein when she slurs and blabbers, “Home.”

Walking her up the stairs of their flat’s building is the most hefty struggle while she’s a sleepy, clumsy and giggly muck of doe gleaming eyes and swollen pretty lips drooling over Harry testing his patience while he makes her take one step at a time.

“Darling, bunny, just some mo' steps lovin’.” He coos at her, putting a firm hand under her bum and heaving her up into him so she doesn’t falls.

“Mhmmm you’re so pretty, daddy.” Harry’s head snaps in surprise as he stares down at her in adoring amusement and push her head under his chin while she slings her arms around his waist lazily.

Sometimes, she gets him so flustered he doesn’t know how to respond.

She whines and cries in dishevelment when Harry makes her sit on the cold marble counter and wipes her makeup off.

“I just wan’ to sleep!” She toes at his torso trying to push him away but he grabs it and tuts, glowering at her strictly, “You’re g'na complain in the mornin’. Sleepin’ with makeup makes ye' breakout remember?” When she still huffs and slumps giving him a hard time to clean her he’s pinching her chin and giving her a gentle jerk.

“Bunny. Stop with ye' battiness.” He grunts not letting his facade slip when she mewls stroking her cheek up and down his lightly stubble covered cheek softly.

“Else what? Y'never punish a sleepy bunny.” She smirks at him foppishly and lazily knowing damn well that one of thing Harry doesn’t do’s tease or punish her when she’s tuckered out and on the edge of sleeping on him.

“You don’t test me bratty woman.” She squeals when he takes hold of her panties to pull them down her legs, slapping her mound once discarding it in the hamper and he sighs when she’s already snoring lightly, slobbering his throat with her mouth parted comically.

After pattering her face with loving kisses he’s tucking her under the layers of blankets and letting her use him as her stuffie.

..

“Aw poor baby.” He mumbles, kissing her forehead when he finds her burning up against him and he’s quickly rummaging for thermometer from the night stand and the tissues he had stashed for emergencies.

“I don’t feel good,” His heart breaks when Y/N croaks out weakly and tries to crawl up his chest to stuff her face in his musky neck but her frail limbs gives out making her cry out.

“It’s okay bunny, ‘s okay. How but I make you some soup. Then y'take your medicines like a good girl of mine, then if your condition gets worse we’ll go to doctor, yeah baby?” He talks to her gently and sweetly, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her temples.

“Just last bite, moppet.” Harry hovers the spoon infront of her and sighs when she shakes her head pushing his wrist away, “I’ll puke.” She sniffs blowing her nose harshly in the tissue .

“The bin’s right here, bunny.” He smoothens his hand down her spine putting the tray aside carefully to snuggle and comfort her as she cries softly against his chest.

“’M so sorry baby, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He couldn’t see her in such condition. It pulls and tugs at his heart so painfully he feels himself hurting.

“Oi. Why you crying, hmm?” He cups her cheek and makes her look at him as she skims her eyes away from him jn embarrassment.

“I —- You’re so caring and loving, treats me so good and it makes me c.. cr–-,” She hiccups finding it hard to breath and Harry rubs her back, whispering affinities in her ear making her finally sob, “Cry....” He chuckles softly pelting kisses upon kisses on her puffy eyelids, soaky dried up cheeks, her frowned up forehead, her wobbly chin and her nipping love bites down her chest then blowing raspberries at his own slick covering her skin making her giggle through her hiccups.

“I love you.” She whispers droopily, head lulling to his chest when the effect of medicine finally starts to kick in.

“I love you too, I want my healthy and happy bunny back.” He mumbles, inhaling a huge puff of her scent and squishes her lovingly.

[kinglazrus]

The King is Dead, Long Live the King

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Summary: Human criminals aren't so threatening when you're a powerful half-ghost. When Danny gets kidnapped, he decides it could be a fun Friday night experience and goes with the flow. It's not his brightest idea.

Or: Danny gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to sacrifice him to Phantom.

Word count: 4068

Big thanks to @wastefulreverie for helping me beta this fic!

—

Danny considers himself a realist. He and his friends have a rather good balance when it comes to their outlooks on life. Tucker tends to look on the positive side of things. Sam often focuses on the negative. Danny, meanwhile, likes to take a moment in and ponder it. Take his time figuring out if what is happening is truly good or truly bad. There's a balance to these things, you know. His life is all about balance. Hero and civilian. Human and ghost. Kidnappee and... well. He hasn't figured out the opposite of kidnappee, yet. The obvious answer is kidnapper, but he can confidently say he has never done any kidnapping in his life. At least not intentionally

The guys that threw a hood over his head and dragged him into the back of a van, however, can't say the same.

"It's a little dusty in here." They must have used a flour sack or something. Painted it black, since he can't see any light. Some traces of whatever the sack used to hold remain, and Danny finds powder entering his nose every time he breathes. He's trying not to sneeze—doesn't want to get snot all over the bag covering his face—but it's getting harder and harder not to.

Someone grabs his shoulder and shoves him forward. If it weren't for his body's ghostly composition, Danny thinks his spine might have snapped in half.

"Ow," he says, not that it really hurts, but he wants the kidnappers to know that it could have hurt. If they want to get anything out of him, hurting him would be a little counterproductive. They haven't said anything to him yet. He assumes there's more than one since someone has to be driving the van while another is busy tying his hands behind his back.

Two kidnappers, then. At least two. He felt more than one set of hands grabbing him as he was dragged off the street, but he didn't get a good look at anyone before they tossed the bag over his head. He could just phase out of his bindings, and the hood, and the van in its entirety, but Danny has been bored lately. Being a ghost hunter isn't much fun after you've outgrown your usual rogues' gallery. Regardless, they still try to put up a fight. Skulker comes after his hide at least once a week, and the Box Ghost never misses an opportunity to annoy him. But after the enemies Danny has taken on, they're small fry. He could use a little excitement.

Getting kidnapped is definitely a little exciting.

Kidnapper One finishes tying Danny's hands. They must have used some kind of cord. It bites into his flesh and already his fingers are going numb. That could be bad. Limbs can fall off if their circulation is cut off for too long, right? Danny remembers reading that somewhere. He doesn't know how long this little ordeal is going to take. Hopefully not that long. Having his hands fall off doesn't sound pleasant, and it would probably be a pain in the ass to regrow them. He knows it's possible, thanks to that time when Skulker managed to steal his little toe, but it's not a pleasant experience overall.

He would also have a hard time hiding the fact that his hands are gone from his parents. How would he even do that? The toe was easy; he made sure to always wear socks until it had grown back. But hands? He has a few sweaters with long sleeves. Or he could stuff some gloves and sew those onto his sleeves. Or get Tucker to do it since sewing using telekinesis is hard. Taking notes at school would be a pain.

If he's lucky, maybe he'll only lose a finger or two.

"Hey, what would you rather lose: a foot or a hand?" Danny asks.

No one answers.

"I think I would rather lose a foot. You could still run and everything if you get a good prosthetic, although it might take some work. I need my hands, though. Thoughts?"

"What the fuck is wrong with this kid?" Kidnapper Two says. At least Danny assumes it's Kidnapper Two. The voice comes from in front of him rather than behind, but the guy who tied his hands could have moved.

"Wow, that was just—wow. That was just rude. I'm actually really hurt right now. I thought we were bonding."

"Um... sorry?" Kidnapper Two says.

"Thank you. So, hand or foot?"

The silence stretches long enough that Danny thinks he won't get a reply until a voice comes from behind him.

"Hand," Kidnapper One says.

"Are you serious? Foot is clearly the right answer. You lose a lot more when you lose a hand," Kidnapper Two says.

"But I like hiking."

"You can hike with a prosthetic."

"I'm not saying you can't! But it would be harder. It's probably more taxing physically. I don't know, I want to hike. Hand."

"Will you two shut up?" a third voice comes from the front of the van.

Danny decides to call this person Taxi Man. He can call them Kidnapper Three, stick with the theme and all that, but he doesn't think they have earned the title yet. Kidnappers One and Two did all the work, grabbing and binding him. What has Taxi Man done? Nothing. Zero effort. Anyone can drive a van. They aren't even driving frantically. Danny hasn't slid into the wall once the entire time. They should have hired his dad as the driver, to make things extra exciting.

Kidnappers One and Two, thoroughly chastised, fall silent. Too bad. Danny was just starting to like them.

The silence drags on, filled only by the rumbling of the van. He wishes he had a better internal clock, but as it is he can't tell if they have been driving for a few minutes or nearly an hour. Either way, he's starting to get bored again.

"So, is the, like, what you do on the weekends?" he asks. The lack of conversation is more stifling than his hood. Seriously, what kind of hosts are these people? The least they can do is give him a little chit-chat to make things interesting. He has Taxi Man to thank for that, though. "You text your bros like 'Hey, u down 2 kidnap?' That was a real two in there, I hope you heard it. Is there a group chat? I bet there's a group chat."

Danny wants to lean back. Sitting on the metal floor hurts his tailbone a little bit. Too many bad falls during ghost fights.

"If there is a group chat, can I join? I think I've earned it. We're in this together now. We can split the ransom and everything. There's this guy, Vlad. He'd pay big money for you to hand me over to him. He's totally obsessed with me in like an 'I want to kill your father and take his place' kind of way."

More silence. Then, "Do you need help?" Kidnapper Two asks.

Danny flexes his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Maybe his hands really will fall off. "Yes."

"You do remember why we're here, don't you?" Kidnapper One asks.

"Well, yeah, but I'm really worried. What if this guy is a pedo or something?"

"Dave. That won't matter after tonight."

Dave. What a lame name for a kidnapper. Totally ruins the vibes. He should go with something scary like Hans. Or Gruber. No, wait. That's just the guy from Die Hard.

"Oh, right," Hans says.

"Wait, what about tonight?" Danny doesn't like the sound of that. He also doesn't like that no one answers him.

The drive lasts a little while longer. They make some turns. Stop at a few lights. Do other typical driving things, Danny doesn't know, he can't see what the hell is happening. But eventually, they come to a stop and the engine cuts off. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him up onto his feet. Danny stumbles as he's shoved toward the back of the van. He might have fallen out if it wasn’t for the hand that grabs the back of his shirt.

"Hey, you're stretching it," Danny whines, even as he dangles forward at a precarious angle. This is his favourite shirt. He can fix his face if he breaks it on the concrete, but his shirt? Can't fix that.

Someone grabs Danny's elbow and guides him down to the ground. There is a loud creak—probably the sound of a door opening. Somehow, everything gets darker. Danny didn't think that was possible, what with the hood. Apparently whoever painted it didn't do a very good job of blacking it out and he just didn't notice it until what little light he had left was gone. Now that they're inside—presumably, since the din of the street is gone now—it really is pitch black. In the distance, he hears humming.

Danny hums along. It's a catchy tune, very low and droning. It sounds like the kind of music Jazz plays to help herself fall asleep. He never got why she did that before, but he does now. As he stumbles along in the dark, smothered in the warmth of his hood, with the low murmur of distant voices, he feels rather relaxed. If he's lucky, his kidnappers might let him settle in for a nap.

The humming grows louder, loud enough for Danny to notice it's not humming at all but chanting. A dozen voices moan over each other as they repeat something in Latin. Danny isn't fluent in it, but Pandora has taught him a few phrases, so he's familiar with the sounds of the language. He tries to translate some of it, making out the word "phantasma" a few times.

Hey. That's his name.

A door creaks. The chanting grows louder. It flows over Danny, echoing voices melding into one as whatever space they're in spits the words back at them. It's haunting and beautiful in its own way.

The hand on his back guides him forward until his toes bump against something hard. He lurches, nearly falling flat on his face, but the hand grabs his shoulder and holds him steady. Once he has recovered, Danny feels out the space in front of him with his foot. there's a step, a small one. It's curved, rather than flat, and has a slight overhang at the top. Carefully, Danny steps up. Whatever it is creaks beneath his feet but holds steady.

"Stop here, please." Kidnapper One's voice echoes as they speak.

Danny obeys. Something rustles. The noise is followed by a weight on his head. A sheet, he thinks. But with some fidgeting, whoever is holding the sheet works his head through a hole and the weight settles on his shoulders. Not a sheet, then. Perhaps it’s a shawl. Or a poncho of some kind. The hands leave him once the poncho is settled. Danny focuses on every little noise he can. A clunk. A scraping noise, but not an unpleasant one. It brings back memories of chalk drawings on the sidewalk.

"Did I do it right?" Hans mutters.

"That looks like the book," Taxi Man says.

"Alright, cool. Marcel, continue."

Again, with the boring names. Marcel at least sounds unique, but Dave? Dave? They couldn’t even come up with fake names? Unless those are the fake names. That would be a stroke of genius. Danny still prefers Hans and Kidnapper One, though. They have a better ring to them.

"There's a table in front of you. Lie down on it," Hans says. At first, Danny wonders how on Earth he is going to manage that without his hands, but Hans has apparently thought of that. They turn him until he can feel the table. From there, it's a bit of an awkward scramble—with Hans' help—getting onto it and laying down, but he finds a pillow under his head once he's flat.

This is the nicest kidnapping Danny has ever experienced, even if Taxi Man is an ass. They gave him a warm poncho and a place to lie down. That nap idea is sounding better and better. Hans and Kidnapper One are pretty great guys. If that group chat really doesn't exist, Danny is going to make it happen.

The chanting around him rises to a crescendo, filling the space. Someone snatches the hood off his head and the chanting cuts off.

Danny blinks as his eyes adjust. Three people stand around him, two men and a woman. They are encircled by a small gathering of people. Everyone wears identical black cloaks with white accents on the hems, even Danny.

The woman standing to his left holds a long, vicious-looking knife in her hands.

"Oh," Danny says. "Well. That's not nice."

—

In hindsight, letting himself get kidnapped out of boredom wasn't a great idea. Danny should have gone to the arcade or something. Better yet, if he wanted something exciting to do, he lives above a lab. There are all kinds of fun things to get into down there. Most of those things can also kill him, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? That's what got him into this situation in the first place. The half-ghost situation, not the kidnapping situation.

"You just straight-up want to kill me," Danny says. Now sounds like a good time to start panicking. At least it would if Danny were a normal teenager. Then again, a normal teenager would have started panicking the second they were snatched off the street. Danny is just cool like that.

He takes a moment to get a good look at his kidnappers. The cloaks don't make it easy. They're loose-fitting and flowy, giving them great breathability but also masking their bodies fairly well. From the neck down, the only distinction he can make is breasts or no breasts. He mentally apologizes to all the women in the death circle. There's no delicate way to say it, it's just very obvious who does or does not have breasts. That's the problem with one-size-fits-all unisex clothing.

The three standing next to Danny—the ones who did the actual kidnapping—have their hoods pulled down and their faces exposed. The woman keeps looking between Danny and the knife as if she can't wait to stab him with it. She must be the Taxi Man. She seems like the kind of person who despises fun ice breaker games like Would You Rather.

When it comes to the men, one is significantly taller than the other, with broader shoulders. Catching a glance at the man's feet, Danny sees his ankles exposed by the too-short cloak. One-size-fits-all strikes again.

The shorter one shrugs. "Sorry." Ah, so that one is Hans. Makes sense. He has a kind face.

"If it's any consolation, we put it to a vote first. We really thought about it," Kidnapper One says.

"It was unanimous," Taxi Man supplies.

"Wait, before we go any further, I just have to ask." Danny looks at Taxi Man. "Are you okay being referred to as 'man'?"

She stares at him. "What?"

"Like, in general. Some people don't like being called dude or guy and all that stuff. I just want to make sure, are you cool with that?"

The knife twitches in her hand. She must really want to stab him right now. "Sure, whatever. I don't care."

"Okay, cool. Didn't want to be rude." Danny goes back to his favourite kidnappers. "Can I at least know why?"

"For centuries, a battle has been waging beyond the comprehension of mortals. A Tyrant and a King caught in an eternal battle. The founder of our order witnessed the first recorded battle over a thousand years ago, in the times of Ancient Greece. The Tyrant had seized control of a powerful city-state meant to expand his power by taking others as well. But before he could, the King came, vanquished him, and left. He did not even stay to receive thanks for his great deed.

"Our founder witnessed this battle and claimed they were gods. Many people did not believe him, but others had also seen the great battle and together, they formed our order Two centuries later, the Tyrant appeared again. And, again the King came and defeated him. For centuries, the Tyrant and King have waged war against one another. Their battles are great and many. Until recently, it had been some time since the King and Tyrant were last seen. Some believed them to be dead, but those faithless few have been proven wrong, for our King has returned! All hail Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One cries out.

"Hail! Hail!" The chant echoes around them.

Danny doesn’t like the sound of that. They’re talking about him, or his ghost half, but he doesn’t understand. The Tyrant? He gets the king bit, a little. He is the Ghost King, but he certainly wasn’t a thousand years ago. He wasn’t alive a thousand years ago. Except for that one time he and Vlad went gallivanting through time, fighting over the Infi-Map. The Tyrant thing suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. And here Danny was hoping that jaunt through history could be a fun adventure with zero consequences. With his luck, he should have known better.

"But the battle has drawn on, far longer than it should. Neither the King nor the Tyrant has prevailed. Today, however, we fix that."

"Cool, cool." Danny hums in disinterest and examines the room instead.

Beyond the questionably fashionable cult people, there's not much to the room. It's big, empty. Some kind of old warehouse with windows high up on the walls. There's a catwalk overhead that leads to an office overlooking the room. Whatever used to be here is all cleared out now, but he notices marks on the floor where machinery used to be. Deep scratches and pits from things being bolted down.

He lies on a wooden table. It's finely crafted and painted a vivid purple. Leaning over the side of the table, he notes that the table is placed on a raised platform. Rounded, like he thought, also wood and also painted purple.

"Nice craftsmanship," Danny says.

"Thank you." Kidnapper One preens. "I'm a carpenter." That explains the stocky build.

Around the platform is some kind of chalk drawing. It circles the entire thing, strange symbols etched over the concrete.

Perhaps now would be a good time to run. It was silly fun before, but there are knives and an altar now. Danny doesn't remember signing up for a cult and he isn't interested in joining one now. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hans bending down and picking something up from the floor. Danny ignores him, though.

"So, this has been fun, but I think I need to get going." He sits up and swings his legs off the table. Kidnapper One and Taxi Man back away, stepping off the platform. Danny cracks his neck and readies himself. They have put so much effort into bringing him here, he may as well put on a little show. Who's going to believe some crazy cultists if he pulls a few ghost moves on them, anyway?

He goes intangible.

The cultists murmur with excitement. Danny barely pays them any mind, though, more focused on the fact that the cloak and restraints didn't fall off.

"What the hell?" Danny lets the intangibility drop, then pulls it up again. Still, nothing happens. "Hey, what's going on? What kind of—"

Danny is yanked backwards. His head bounces off the wooden table. While the warehouse spins and black spots dance in his eyes, an arm curls around his head and pins him in place, bent over backward. A hand, Hans' hand, forces his mouth open. Something slowly tips over Danny's face.

A drop of liquid touches his lips, blistering the instant it makes contact. Danny thrashes, trying to escape Hans' grip. He twists and jerks his head, but all that does is put his eyes under the stream as it drops. Danny screams as liquid blood blossom hits his face. The mixture is cold but it burns, hot and cold, freezing and melting his skin at the same time.

"Shit," Hans mumbles. The stream redirects. It splashes across his nose and cheeks before finally entering his mouth. Danny has to swallow it. If he doesn't, he might drown in the middle of a dusty warehouse. He doesn't want to, though. Everything burns. His lungs, his throat, his tongue. His screams turn to gurgles as the liquid fills his mouth. Hans forces his jaw shut. Danny can't see it, but it must be Hans.

Left with no other choice, Danny swallows. Every second is agony. He feels the mixture flow down his throat, searing him from the inside out. It settles heavily in his stomach.

Finally, Hans backs away. Danny collapses onto the floor, sobbing and gasping for breath. He can't see. He can't speak. He can barely breathe.

"Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One shouts. His voice booms throughout the warehouse. "You have fought long and hard, but you have been weakened, bound against your will."

The chanting picks up again. Danny's name echoes all around him.

"We offer this boy, your mortal prison, as a sacrifice in your name! We have seen his feats of power and know him to be the one who enslaves you!"

Danny crawls forward, feeling for the edge of the platform. He must be close. Through the grey haze that his vision has become, he can just make out the edge of the wooden stage. He launches himself at it. The air before him sparks.

Danny screams again as electricity courses through him. The runes on the floor glow with power.

"Hail! Hail!"

"Hail! Hail!" The cultists cry.

Someone crouches in front of Danny, reaching over the runes. He raises his head, blood and tears dripping from his eyes. Taxi Man lifts him with a hand to his throat.

"As he breathes his last breath, so may you breathe life again! Hail the King, Lord Phantom!"

The knife comes down.

—

The room is dark. It's still daytime, but the sky outside is black. The only illumination comes from the circle of runs. The glow is dim. The pale light reflects off the sacrificial blade. A drop of blood falls from the tip onto the runes. They pulse.

The cultists all stand back and watch their sacrifice. A deep wound carves the inside of his arm, a remnant of his futile attempt to escape his fate. The knife still found a home in his chest. Now he lays splayed out on the dais, one arm outstretched. Blood drips from his fingers, falling onto the runes. With every drop, the runes brighten, until the growing pool of blood beneath him spills over the edge of the dais.

The runes flare, blinding everyone. The room rumbles.

"It's happening." Marcel steps back in awe.

An arc of light bursts off the body. It happens again, and again, until waves of silver light drown out the runes. They explode from the boy's bloody chest and burst into starlight. The light lashes against the barrier, pushing and pushing until the runes burst into dust. The next wave of light washes over the cultists and they drop to their knees screaming.

A chill fills the room.

Marcel struggles to lift his head. The runes have gone out. The body lays still, motionless, a shadow against the dais. A figure hovers above the altar, wreathed in silver light and wearing a black crown around his throat. Otherworldly green eyes look down on Marcel.

"You wanted the King." Phantom speaks with a hundred voices. His mouth doesn't move, but the noise fills Marcel's head. Every word rumbles with power. It feels as if his skull will crack open at the next syllable.

"So here I am." Phantom's arm stretches out. The worshippers drop to the floor, ectoplasm spilling from their mouths. It burns as it bubbles up through their throats, searing their tongues and lips. The only sound they can make is guttural screams. Marcel chokes, waiting for death. It doesn't come, though. Between one blink and the next, Phantom disappears.

When Marcel looks down, the body on the dais is gone.

—

Prompt by @five-rivers: For centuries, the cult has anticipated the glorious rise and return of Lord Phantom. That time is at hand. All they need to bring him fully into the mortal world is the perfect sacrifice: Danny Fenton.

[mandakatame]

arrhythmic

Short story inspired by this comic made by @kiidal

~~~

It started a while ago. He never forgot his first.

“Nathalie. There is something I must tell you about my son.”

He had only gone down to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for himself, his kwami already satiated with the rounds of camembert hidden around his room. But those words caught his ears, the light from his father’s office caught his eyes, and soon he had creeped silently closer, his socks making no noise on the marble. He stopped right at the closed door.

“What is it, sir?” The sound of pacing could be heard.

“Tell me, Nathalie, have you ever felt something off with Adrien? When you are Mayura, specifically?”

“No, sir. Should I have?”

There was a pregnant pause before a clatter was heard of objects hitting the cold marble.

“Sir, no, you don’t mean to tell me . . .”

There was fear, despair, concern, and ultimately disbelief in her voice before a light thud was heard as her knees gave out from under her.

“Felix took one of the Graham de Vanily rings when they visited. I don’t know which one is which.” More steps of leather shoes were heard. “You’re still running a fever. Once you’ve stabilized, you will feel for the amok in the ring I still have.”

“Please, sir, confirm for me.” Her voice was shaking. “Is Adrien . . .”

“Yes, he is what has been coined a sentimonster. If you recall the crash that took place over a year ago?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“It seems Adrien was killed or at least fast approaching death. The driver’s was immediate. However, Emilie fared better. So she risked her own life to save Adrien’s. She activated the peacock miraculous and used it to bind her love to Adrien’s existence within the ring she wore and therefore prolonging his life. When Adrien woke up without any memory of the crash, that’s when I had you implement the measures to ensure Adrien was ignorant and that Emilie passed.”

“Are you ever going to tell him, sir?”

“One day. We’ve convinced him Emilie passed. How am I to explain that she is in a coma barely holding onto life under this house?” The voice held some grief.

His head was reeling. Nathalie was Mayura, That meant his father was Hawkmoth. He was also part sentimonster and his amok was in his mother’s wedding ring. He had died or almost did. There was a crash. His mother was still alive. He gathered whatever sanity he had left and quickly, but quietly returned to his room, the glass of water forgotten.

He took in the information and he nearly went crazy. He explained everything to Plagg. Even he couldn’t help Adrien through this panic attack. Plagg was trying to hug his partner, his best friend, to help calm him down, but it was for naught. Adrien kept shaking, gasping for air, his legs tucked to his chest and his arms. He could feel his heart beating and then it happened. A beat skipped, his heart shook, and the pain that followed had him vomiting a spot of bile before he lost consciousness.

---

He would get triggered by anything that reminded him of the devastating truth and its implications. He would get sweaty and slightly tremble. If it was really bad he could feel his heart beat so hard that it was hurting. It didn’t help that he would be nearly suffocating through the whole thing.

The second big serious panic attack had happened after the seventy second battle against Monsieur Pigeon. A battle he wasn’t needed for. The third came after Optigami, a seemingly important and dangerous battle that he wasn’t needed in and he was never debriefed about. The fourth came after the battle between Sentibubbleur. He had been sidelined and somehow a civilian, even though it was his friend Marinette, had known more about this plan than he did. The fifth after Larme Ultime, when he found out that Nino and Alya were Carapace and Rena Rouge respectively and that they both knew each other’s identities. The sixth came after his love had said, “I will never leave you, kitty.”

Because she had left him. He was not necessary. He didn’t know anything anymore. All he felt was pain. His heart would throb violently, his head would pound with doubt. Guilt for not revealing who his enemies are to her worsened his heartache. He didn’t want to lose his father, not so soon after he lost his mother. And Nathalie was becoming sick, just like his mother. 

---

He was trapped by societal convention. There was a new akuma, a fairly destructive one. They apparently had a grudge against the Parisian government for destroying a small park for development. As revenge, they were granted a power that allowed them to eradicate government assets including public infrastructure. The school immediately went to the boiler room. A few people were missing. Most notably, Alya and Nino. Ladybug must have already given them their miraculous and were currently fighting the akuma without him.

Meanwhile he was in the boiler room unable to escape because his classmates and teachers would be too worried about him. But he was still Cat Noir. He might not have the agility or speed or strength that he had, but he still had the skill. And so while he was in the midst of a mild panic attack, he kicked a pipe from the railing free and stood in front of everybody, ready to defend them, even if it took his own life. It was pathetic anyways.

They could hear and feel the rumbles of the fight and as buildings and roads were destroyed. Adrien remained vigilant. His heart was fighting to break free from his chest, causing him so much pain. Cat Noir always joked about being able to be a good actor, but it was not unbased. He could smile through the pain, act brave through cowardice, and ooze confidence when all he wanted was to be alone.

There was a loud rumble from right above them. The sound of blasted concrete and asphalt, crumbling brick, and shrieks of bending metal resounded. Adrien was so focused on defending the entrance to the boiler room he didn’t register his name being called until it was too late. He briefly saw whoever took refuge in the boiler room squeeze themselves against the back wall as the ceiling above broke and started crumbling. Adrien tried to run, but the metal and concrete fell before him, he tripped and found himself impaled upon the weapon he chose to fight with. Then the ceiling collapsed on top of him.

He knew the adrenaline was the only thing numbing the excruciating pain he should be feeling with his diaphragm pierced through and the rest of his body being crushed under the rubble. He couldn’t move any of his limbs either. It wasn’t that he was physically confined, he couldn’t even feel any movement. However, he was lucky that his neck wasn’t also piled on with rubble and that his head managed to land in a pocket of air.

But that didn’t stop his heart from racing further which only increased the pain. The adrenaline was not releasing as much endorphins as needed to abate the torturous pain. His struggle to breathe only worsened from before as his chest was supporting some of the weight of the rubble and his diaphragm was heavily injured making each breath a shock to his system.

He was going to die painfully. He’s always had the thoughts. Hell, he’s died multiple times protecting his lady. But, now? Now, he was alone and in so much pain. He was trapped and so scared. He wanted his mom, he wanted someone. His heart was beating so hard. He vomited bile.

He saw the ladybugs go over his eyes and he could see the light of the fluorescent tubes. He felt most of the pain was abated. But it was too late. As he struggled to get up, his throbbing heart beat erratically and he felt weakness and acute pain wash over him. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Mme Bustier running toward him.

---

“According to the woman who spoke with the EMTs, rubble seemed to fall on him. The ladybug cure should have reverted whatever damage he might’ve endured.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“The patient seems to have suffered cardiac arrest after the fact. The woman called for paramedics and performed CPR after she found him not breathing. Medics were able to get his heart back to work. The abnormality is that the patient is only fifteen years old. We did an MRI, he doesn’t have any irregularities, but after we processed the blood work, it seems his residual cortisol levels indicate that it could have been induced by deadly levels of cortisol. The only question really is, is whether the deadly levels of cortisol are due to an abnormality in the brain, which we haven’t checked, yet, or some sort of psychological cause.”

“Do what’s needed. This is the son of Gabriel Agreste, after all.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

---

Adrien woke up disoriented with his body aching, surrounded by white, and most of alone. He tried to move his body only to inflict some hurt in his arm, courtesy of the drip needle. He finally realized he was in a hospital, in one of the rooms where the patient was isolated.He could feel the thin covers of the mattress sheets rub against his body, his clothes having been replaced for a hospital gown. However, over it was a blanket he had seen a few times before. A pink and black comforter that belonged to none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She had visited. She shouldn’t have. He wasn’t worthy. If he wasn’t worthy of his own partner, he wasn’t worthy of anyone.

He found the remote that adjusted his bed and set his bed so that he was more upright, practically sitting on the bed rather than laying on it. He didn’t touch the call button, though. There were plenty of patients who needed more help than he did. So he waited. But, being alone with his thoughts, nothing to distract him from the disturbing revelations sent his heart to quickly skyrocket. And soon enough a nurse and a doctor rushed in seeing him struggle to breathe.

He couldn’t make out the words of the voices as they quickly moved around him. He felt himself slowly relax though, his mind gaining an odd, hazed clarity. He could feel his heart calm and settle quietly, and his limbs became light and heavy at the same time. He could hear the voices now.

“Okay, he’s stabilized. Can you hear me, sweetie?”

Adrien turned the voice. The doctor was clearly of mixed race. She didn’t quite look East Asian, but neither european. If he didn’t know Marinette was half European and half East Asian, he would be thoroughly confused. Marinette, his close yet so distant friend. Vivid memories of her kindness washed over him as he gripped her blanket tighter. He had always thought of her as someone he could easily fall in love with. No, he wanted to. His relationship with Ladybug was deteriorating no matter how much she wanted to deny that fact. She was causing him so much pain, but he still loved her too much. His heart started to constrict.

“Adrien.”

It was still soothing, yet somehow firm, as if the call was to ground him. He turned again to look at her.

“Sorry, you reminded me of someone.”

“The one who gave you the blanket. I’m guessing she’s half asian as well?”

Adrien nodded.

“She cares a lot about you. She was fighting to see you and make sure you were okay. She eventually gave up and gave this blanket to us for you.”

Adrien looked away to his hands which were playing with the edge of said blanket, “What about my father?”

“Whom I assume is your teacher confided in us that whatever you’re experiencing could be due to home life, so we didn’t contact your father. We’ve run some tests and her reasons are not unfounded. Adrien, you seemed to have enough cortisol in your body to cause extreme physical trauma to your heart. You suffered from cardiac arrest. You don’t have to answer, but I must ask: do you think your home life could have something to do with your current condition?”

Adrien just gripped the blanket harder.

“Is it okay, if I take that as a yes?”

Adrien nodded.

“Don’t worry, Adrien. This is all off the record. All I want to do is help you, okay?”

The doctor suddenly took out her phone and read something on it, “It seems your father and his assistant will be arriving soon. It looks like nobody told them your true condition. They’ll be arriving soon. Do you want to see them?”

Adrien gave a reluctant nod.

“It’ll be okay, Adrien.”

The doctor stepped back and headed out the door, “I forgot to tell you. My name is Adrienne Liao.”

Adrien became bewildered before joining in on the chuckle that resounded behind the door.

---

The large hospital bill was explained away with Dr. Liao convincing the fashion mogul that only the utmost care should be given to such an esteemed patient. However, it took a resounding will for her to do so. She was deeply disturbed at two major facts about the interaction that took place in Adrien’s hospital room. The first fact was that M. Agreste did not personally show up at the hospital. She talked with the mogul through facetime on a tablet held by the assistant, Nathalie. The second fact was that Adrien behaved absolutely normally during the interaction. It was as if this was the expectation.

It was explained that Adrien was in a compromised position once the ladybug cure was done and had fallen down the stairs. The lie furthered that he was okay and tests made sure there were absolutely no complications to the boy and that medical records could be updated since he was here.

It was also unsettling that Adrien referred to his father as père, and that words were denoted in respectful terms similar to how you would a stranger. This wasn’t a healthy family dynamic. SHe noted that there was distance between father and son, and the father holding high expectations of the son, and little to no endearment from father to son. In fact, the father put some of the blame of the son’s condition on the son’s shoulders. The boy seemed overworked as well, gaining insight to the boy’s crowded schedule: various extracurriculars, modeling, plus school. Leaving little to no time for the son to spend time with any friends outside of school. And Adrien absorbed the lecture and kept obedience like a trained dog.

And there was more to it than this. After all, Adrien did imply that whatever was causing his condition was due to something that was going on at home. There were clear signs of psychological abuse and emotional abuse through the interactions between father and son. There was the ever clear mark that the both were unnaturally separate for being family as well as the controlling nature of the father over the son and the son’s acceptance. Dr. Liao also noted an aspect that confused her. She saw that there was fear in his eyes. Not fear of being punished, but fear of being physically hurt. Yet, there were no signs of physical abuse on his body. No bruises, scrapes, nor cuts could be found on his body. There were healed ones, ones that were small and due to living life, but, other than that, there were no injuries.

Eventually, they left, seeing no need for the overnight stay. She could try getting her hands on Prozac or Zoloft for the boy and somehow sneak it to him, but what Adrien really needed was a psychiatrist. Drugs were helpful, she couldn’t deny it, but what made Dr. Liao a good doctor was that she approached patients with a holistic method. And she knew that Adrien won’t be fixed with drugs.

---

He took a sour pride with how good an actor he was, but nothing stopped the chatter around school. His heart had stopped in front of many of schoolmates. If Mme. Bustier wasn’t there, he surely would’ve died. Nobody talked to him straight about it. Everybody knew there had to be something direly wrong with you to suffer cardiac arrest at fifteen. Adrien hated the talk, but was glad enough nobody asked him about it straight to his face. He could see the concern on Nino’s, Alya’s, and Marinette’s faces. Of course, they would be concerned. But two of them had lied straight to his face and exposed the liar that his lady was. And the other was a great friend who kept this odd distance, whose behavior made him question his relationship with her multiple times, in a bad way. And Chloe exposed her true colors. All his other friends were more acquaintances in reality.

He acted all day, as if nothing had happened. He was lucky that there was no akuma. Was Hawkmoth granting him mercy? What a funny thought. But Hawkmoth is his father. Maybe because he was hurt due to an akuma, technically, his father needed to plan so that Adrien wouldn’t get hurt. Adrien never suffered physical blows from his father. His father might be cold, distant, and hold too high expectations of him, but he was never physical. The only time he was hurt by his father was when he was Cat Noir. His father doesn’t know who’s behind the mask.

He had hidden several panic attacks during the school day, mostly due to all the talk behind his back and the concern on his friends’ faces. He just wanted things to be normal. But, his father had other plans. The mogul had decided to go about the photoshoot in a different way. He would still wear the designer clothing, but he would be free to do whatever he liked. The photographer would take pictures of him as he walked around Paris or had interactions. Of course his bodyguard was to be present at all times, but not so close as to interfere with the shoot in any way. At least it was some freedom for Adrien, so he consented. Internally, at least. It was not a choice for him anyways.

Strangely enough, he never decided to call a friend and hang out with them, nor go to the bakery run by Marinette’s parents. No, he just walked aimlessly throughout Paris. In all his fifteen years of life, he’d only been to places for modeling shoots, and they were often iconic landmarks or studios. He got to see more of Paris as Chat Noir, but even then, he had a job to do. He never really got to explore. So that’s what he did.

He had dived into alleys and climbed up walls. Sometimes he perched on top of things he climbed like his other persona. He’d walked into shops and discovered their wares. He’d talk to employees and greet strangers on the street. He’d ran through playgrounds and jumped on and off the structures and performed tricks on the bars. He’d climbed trees, bought food, and more, but eventually it was getting dark. His schedule had been freed for the shoot, but now it was time to head back,

It wasn’t long before he heard the strumming of an electric guitar coming from ahead of him. He looked up to find the bridge over the Seine and the Liberty, the setting sun shadowing the ship with an orange glow. He diverted himself towards the strumming. Even if he didn’t know him that well, Adrien still considered him a friend. He still wondered why they broke up.

He walked across the gangway, stopping before setting foot on the actual vessel. He noticed Luka sitting at the hull of the ship.

“Luka! It’s Adrien.” Adrien tried calling over the music. It was fairly loud.

The strumming stopped and Luka got up out of the chair he was sitting in. “C’mon board, Adrien.”

Adrien stepped aboard. They dapped each other up before taking seats on one of the ottomans in front of the stage.

“Was there anything you wanted to talk about?.”

“Not really, just wanted to drop by and say ‘hi,’ so ‘hi,’” Adrien responded a little awkwardly. 

“Well, ‘hi’ to you, too,” Luka chuckled.

“Actually there was something that I wanted to know,” Adrien started again, more serious this time, “How come you and Marinette broke up? You both seemed so happy together.”

Luka lost his jovial demeanor, “I love her so much. All I want is her happiness. But she’d be happier with someone else. There’s another guy. The way she talks about him. I get jealous, really jealous, but we can’t help who we love. She also said she had other responsibilities, secrets that she couldn’t share even to him, so she left me. We became friends again and I’ll always be there for her, especially whenever she tries to confess to him.”

“Whoever this guy is is really lucky to be loved by her.”

“What about you?”

“Kagami? Well, I also have responsibilities, you can say. I, too, have secrets. She caught me in a lie and thinks I’m in love with someone else. She’s not wrong, but now I want her to be wrong.” He ended with a defeated, bitter tone.

“What do you mean?” Luka had heard of Adrien having a crush on a girl, but after Wishmaker, he knew exactly who it was.

“I’d constantly flirt with her, I’ve confessed to her multiple times, but she never really takes me seriously. Lately, she’s been leaving me, lying to me, breaking promises that we kept even though I didn’t want to. She keeps hurting me, breaking me. I’m already broken. I’m already hurting. I just want it to stop!” Adrien was a mess of sobs and tears.

“Listen, Adrien, there’s something I need to tell you.” Adrien looked up at Luka, his eyes red, the tears not stopping. Luka couldn’t look at him. “I know . . . I know you’re Cat Noir.”

Adrien let out a sad chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I’ve kept it a secret. Not even Ladybug knows.”

Tears still ran down his face, dropping down his chin and some going into his mouth. “It’s okay. Maybe if she knows you know who I am, she’ll replace me. She doesn’t need me anymore. She has plenty of heroes to help her out now. She doesn’t trust me anymore, no matter how much she says she does. She’s left me behind in battles. Sometimes I don’t even know what’s going on, and I can’t help in the way anybody wants ‘cause nobody will tell me anything. Sometimes I wonder if I should just turn in my miraculous.”

“I . . . I . . . ,” Luka didn’t know what to say.

“And that’s not all,” Adrien became a little hysterical, “I’ve been keeping secrets from Ladybug, too. Major secrets. I know who Shadowmoth is! Can you believe that? My own father! Gabriel Agreste! And Mayura? My father’s assistant, Nathalie! Oh, and you know what else, my mother is somewhere, alive, in a coma, under my house, even though I thought she was dead this whole time. And you know why she’s in such a state? She used the peacock miraculous to keep me alive. I should’ve died, Luka! I did, die! And, now I’m part sentimonster, and I don’t know if my father is still in possession of the object the amok is in.”

All Luka saw was a broken, lost soul. A soul that didn’t deserve any of the bad things in his life. He was a good actor. It was not too long ago Luka saw Adrien last. He looked a bit tired, but he was all smiles and laughs even though his social experience was still quite low. Before he could stop himself, Luka found his arms around the boy. He was trembling and he could feel the tears soon soaking into his jacket and shirt. “Adrien, I’ll always be here. I’ll support you when no one else does. I’ll be by your side even if Ladybug isn’t.”

“Don’t say anything to her. I . . . I know what I have to do.”

“I’ll be here, anytime, it doesn’t matter. Just call me, I’ll come.”

“Thank you.”

Luka didn’t have time to properly react before he felt lips gently capture his before leaving then capturing them again. He closed his eyes and gently reciprocated. He knew what he was doing wasn’t exactly the healthiest for Adrien, but the boy deserved to indulge, to do what he wanted.

Soon enough they parted with Adrien looking up at Luka, guiltily. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Luka gave a small smile, “It’s okay, really. I was just surprised. Let’s maybe not kiss again, but if you ever need someone to hold you, or if you need a shoulder to cry on, or anything, I’m here. Okay?”

Adrien smiled and looked away, “Okay.”

---

Thank you all for reading. Epilogue coming soon.

[facegodandwalkbackwards]

I’ve decided that Renesmee is a trans boy <3

He figures it out in his fifties. Before then, he just figures he’s like his Mom, a little tom-boyish, a little butch. He’s not like other girls, he says. His Mom tells him that’s normal, she was like that, too. And if he feels a longing for the boys in his classes, well, that’s also normal, she says. Wanting someone is the first step to a happily ever after.

Renesmee thinks that sounds trite, but he’s young and doesn’t quite have the exact words to describe why he doesn’t like it. Why ‘happily ever after’ feels confining.

When he reaches his twenties--in real time, and not just in growth--he asks Benjamin about happily ever afters, because he knows his Mom is young, too, by their people’s standards. Benjamin has come to visit every now and then, not for them--he’s not especially attached to them--but because Jacob sometimes drives to Oregon or Idaho to meet up with him and have coffee. He tells Renesmee that they might be possible, but Amun thinks there’s really only ‘happy for now’s. He admits he feels that way, too, sometimes--that he wants to believe happy can be forever, but he knows some day Jacob will stop coming to meet him, and he, too, will die.

During the events of Breaking Dawn, Jacob told Benjamin why the wolves phase, and Benjamin--worried that his presence there might bring more pain--decided that if they were going to be friends, he would never come visit Jacob on his land. Renesmee wishes he could convince his own family to stay away, but ‘the weather’s just too good for us, there,’ he is told. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older. We can blend in with the humans easily there. Besides, we’re never there long enough to do any real damage.’

Except wasn’t he living proof of that being a lie?

His Mother doesn’t see it that way. ‘They weren’t forced to help us,’ she tells him. ‘Jacob, Leah, Seth--they wanted to help. They chose to.’ And he isn’t so sure that’s true, either, but arguing with his Mother never gets him anything productive. Especially when his Father always, always takes her side.

In his thirties, the family--the coven--wants to return to Forks. Renesmee says no, but is overruled by a vote. He goes along at first, but he doesn’t stay. Three nights into their arrival, the aging and grey-haired Taha  Aki--Billy Black, as he’s known, now--comes to visit the house and all but begs them to leave.

Paul and Quil and Embry had just stopped being able to phase, he tells them. If you come back now--are you really going to make them go through this, again?

And Renesmee thinks that maybe his Mother will finally understand. They’re not supposed to be here. But Edward says they won’t stay long enough for it to matter--just three years. That’s all. And when Carlisle and Esme agree, Bella’s convinced.

He doesn’t make a decision right there; he can’t. He’s learned that Alice is too conniving for Renesmee to get past without careful planning.

That night, he leaves. The note, hastily scrawled, tells his family he’s going to live with the Denalis. There are phone calls and tears and accusations. How could he do this to his Mother? Doesn’t he understand how hard it is for them all, living somewhere they aren’t wanted? Doesn’t he understand that he’s still too young to get why he should just come home and ignore Billy? It doesn’t sway him one bit.

Tanya and Carmen try to convince him, themselves. Your family is just worried about you, they say. They just want you to have a good life. Don’t be too hard on them. He knows it costs them nothing to say that.

And he misses them, if he’s honest with himself. Nostalgia is a drug and he wonders and wonders if he made the right choice, but he thinks about the fear in Billy’s face and feels sure.

In those three years, he grows to resent the Denalis. Every conversation that isn’t about why he shouldn’t feel bad for the pack--for the people who killed Laurent (and nevermind that he was hunting on their land, nevermind that he broke the rules, first)--is about how much his family misses him. It’s maddening. Renesmee is mad.

It’s Garrett that gives him an out. You know, he tells Renesmee one cold winter night, days before the Cullens planned to come up north for a decade or so before beginning their standard rotation again, you don’t need a coven. It’s nice to have. They’re helpful if you’re in trouble. But there’s nothing so freeing as going solo, bound to nothing and no-one, going wherever you like as it strikes your fancy. Good way to avoid making decisions, he says, and the little smile tells Renesmee that it’s an invitation. Go, it means. I’ll take the blame for you.

Kate isn’t thrilled when she gets a call from Alice, frantic that Renesmee is gone--just gone, heading west? No--south, now. No--now he’s leapt into a river she doesn’t recognize and she can’t make out what direction he’s going in. Garrett’s been in trouble, before--he knows if he waits a few months, it’ll be fine.

The years on his own are more than Renesmee could ever have hoped for. They’re freeing and wild and beautiful. He hunts in forests and deserts and oceans, and learns how much he can love himself--and still, something feels off. A sour note in the song. Something not quite fitting.

At first, he imagines he’s lonely. He’d always been with his coven, after all, and maybe that’s just what loneliness feels like. Except even in cities, even in the busiest cities in the world, he feels out of step. It’s something deeper.

He grows to resent the name he was given; when he was younger, it had felt weird. Like he was the stand-in for the people whose names he held. Now, he wondered how much truth there may have been in that. When Renee had died, Bella had leaned on him so much, fretting and trying to care for Renesmee as she had once for Renee.

He thinks about being called EJ if he had been a boy, and what that would have meant when Jacob eventually became mortal again. He decides he hates that name, too--but it does feel closer.

Renesmee goes through names like seasons, circling around an answer, reaching ever closer to it and yet feeling so far removed.

It’s in Brazil that he finds it. He’d lost track of seasons and finds himself there in the middle of Pride, and he sees men with breasts. Men with soft faces. Men with scars and furred chests and socks stuffed into their pants. He sees men in the vibrancy of transness and falls in love.

Rio, he decides, is a much better name. Rio feels like home. Rio is learning that he can bind all he wants; his bones don’t bend like a human’s do, and it’s not like he needs to breathe. He experiments with hormones, different dosages, different types, things he’s stolen off supply trucks in the middle of the night. For a long time he thinks they won’t do anything, that he’s too vampiric to use them until one day he wakes up different.

For his best guess, the venom pushes on one side or another of absolutes. Rio thinks he’s built up enough testosterone that the venom corrected overnight. His chest aches and his thighs ache and his chin and throat hurt like he’d been punched hard enough to knock him out.

When he looks in the mirror, what looks back feels right. He’s no taller than he had been, before, but his face--there’s fur, there. A thick beard and mustache and sturdy eyebrows. He’s got fur on his chest where there once were breasts. He’s got straight and narrow hips, and hairy legs, and he cries because his body has never felt so much like home.

If he ever meets the Cullens, again, it’s long after he’s remade himself. There’s a vampire in Georgia, he’s heard, that has the power of granting shields, an echo of the forcefulness with which she protected others in life. He doesn’t need to do much to convince her to place one on him. They’re alike--so similar they could be family. She’s not so human as he is, but she knows what it is to want a different body.

Her shields are different that his Mother’s were. One moment, Alice can see him--the next, he’s gone.

Rio stays in Georgia for a while. It’s lively, there, and he enjoys the company. There’s no spark--no romance--just a desire for kinship. When Berta chooses to leave, he follows her. It’s not a coven; they’re not bound to each other. They split apart sometimes, come together again decades or centuries past. And Rio stays away from Forks.

And he is happy for now.

[aching-tummies]

If I was your partner...I'd bind you. Arms behind your back or tied to an armrest or something. I don't got a preference for what state your stomach is in except maybe an extreme one (hungry, stuffed, sick, etc.). I want you moaning and squirming and begging for rubs. Maybe I will grant them...but the more sadistic part of me wants you on the floor, arms bound to a table leg, with my sock-clad foot prodding into your tummy causing you to moan and something to happen in that gut gu yours.

I wonder if cradling my stomach when it hurts actually does anything. Like…I instinctively try to at least put my hands on it when it starts to ache in public…but it still hurts. Would it hurt even more if I didn’t have anything pressing against it?

My musings gave you the perfect excuse to combine our mutual love for tummy kink with your binding kink. The blindfold was the first to come on. It’s just a scrap of fabric from my sewing projects and not necessarily a true blindfold. The low thread-count is one thing, so I can see silhouettes if I try hard enough. That and the little slivers caused by the gap created by the bridge of my nose…but those slivers barely allow me to see my front if I try hard. More strips of fabric fasten my arms behind me. Not in a way that gets me to cramp and ache, but enough that I can’t bring my arms up to my stomach. I’m leaned up against a leg of our dining table with my legs sprawled out in front of me and my arms fastened to the leg. If I start to panic I could easily push the table up and slip my bonds out from under it, or I could use the safe-word.

A deep, angry grumble quakes in my tummy. It’s audible and it brings an intense cramp with it. I bite back a moan, my eyes squeezing shut against the intensity of the cramping ache as it builds and builds to a head. My arms tense, fighting the bonds as my body instinctively tries to reach over to soothe my upset tummy.

“Ugh…babe?” I don’t even know if you are in the room. You made me ingest a bunch of stuff and I’ve been left to sit for a long while. The plan today was to cook up a stomach ache and we both knew that I’d subconsciously avoid eating stuff that was guaranteed to give me a tummy ache, so we sort of removed my autonomy with the blindfold. “Babe—urgh…ouch—i-it’s s-starting—ah! Ow!” A sharp growl splits the air and I can see my stomach clenching and convulsing as my body squirms involuntarily.

You didn’t just stuff me, but you were careful with the combinations to ensure that it’d cause a stomach ache. There was orange juice to start, something I usually avoid because I’m not a big fan of tart and sour flavors. At least two glasses went into my gut via a straw to start and I was sated after the two glasses. Of course, one never says ‘no’ to pizza. The next thing to nudge my lips ended up being a pizza. You’d give me a few bites and let me swallow, pausing periodically to give me a sip of something through a straw pressed to my lips to ensure my mouth didn’t get too dry. Sometimes it was water, other times it was some carbonated drink. I don’t know how many slices of pizza I ended up eating, but it felt like a lot. The liquid travelling up the straw eventually transitioned into milk tea and my dread ramped up in tandem with the pressure in my tummy as I thought about the lake of acidic orange juice it would clash with. My stomach churned as I continued to suck on the straw and that definitely didn’t help matters. Maybe it was my overactive imagination, but I could feel chunks bobbing around in my gut and I’m not entirely sure all those chunks were pizza.

You left me alone after the feeding. Tempted as you were to put your hands on my belly and slosh it around, that would defeat the purpose of our little experiment. Now we wait. You had retreated out of my sight (not hard to do) and left things to stew.

I sat there with nothing to occupy my mind except for the sensations in my tummy. It didn’t take long. My stomach cramped a little, but it was more discomfort than an actual ache. That went on for about twenty minutes. I guess those minor cramps were my body’s way of churning the mess in my belly. The aching intensified as the mess got more and more churned around. The milk and cheese reacting with the acidic orange juice and curdling terribly. My intestines were alright with the liquidy orange juice dripping into it b, but the easy-to-digest liquid soon stopped dropping in, replaced by a nasty, semi-solid glop of curdled garbage. My intestines reacted almost immediately. Peristalsis stalled for a little while, allowing the nastiness to stew for a bit. When it re-started it was clearly having trouble finding the right rhythm to get the mess moving.

I needn’t have called out. You’ve been watching from the other side of our combined living/dining area. You knew the stomach ache was forming when my mewls and bitten back moans joined the griping grumbles from my unhappy tummy. The noises had started out liquid-y and clear, sounding infrequently and gradually morphed into a sticky cacophony of nastiness. Tell me you’re sick without telling me you are sick. Came to mind. The noises from my gut just screamed ‘sickly’ to you and you were tempted to find me a bucket, but you didn’t want to miss a moment of the action. Not like I’m sitting on carpet—the smooth flooring is easy to clean, even if it’ll be a bit of a pain to do so if I hurl.

“Ugh—urlp—b-babe? Sweetie—it hurts! It really hurts—ulp—” Those aborted hiccups sound wet. Forget ‘if’ I hurl, that sound is basically a guarantee that we’ll be cleaning our floors. Well, if it’ll end up being a mess anyway. A smile forms on your lips as you quietly pad your way over to where I’m bound. Your sock-clad feet make no noise as you creep closer. “Ullf…uhhmm…ugh…’m so full—urp—s-so sick..oohh…” A moan and a coo at directed at my tummy reverberates, blending with a smooth growl from my guts. I’m still completely unaware of your presence.

“Ah—Oww—URLPK!” I was unaware of your presence until a sharp pressure drove into my bloated belly as you nudged your sock-clad foot into the crest of it. Something sour and chunky surged up my esophagus. My surprised gasp at the sudden pressure was just enough to keep the sick from coming all the way out but the back of my throat burns as my stomach churns violently. “Ugh…babe…that hurts. Ugh…forget the stupid experiment. Untie me. I need to rub—my stomach hurts.” I hiss and bite back something as my stomach clenches tightly. You watch me arch slightly, my stomach seeming to seek out any sort of comforting pressure and finding none. For a second you entertain the idea of alien chest-bursters or something from the way my arching spine brings my belly up and out for a moment before my straining body goes back down. Maybe that was an attempt at nudging up the table, but I know you are here and still haven’t used a safe-word so the scenario is still going.

While you were feeding me, you had sneakily unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my fly on a whim. The experiment was for a belly without any sort of comforting touch. I wasn’t willing to go naked for the experiment so the undone jeans would have to do.

My breathing comes quickly and in short gasps. My stomach heaves and squirms with my breaths. It’s almost like the labor videos you’ve seen before. You nudge at my stomach, prodding it with your big toe. I groan again and shift, seemingly trying to get away from your foot. I end up pressed against one of the dining chairs that has been tucked in, not really offering me much more room to go. I’ve got you on one side and the chair on the other—talk about a rock and a hard place.

Moving was a bad idea. The movements jostled my already upset guts and the churning intensifies. The cramping pains shoot through every which way and my arms continue to fight the restraints, my body desperately trying to get any sort of comforting pressure to my sick tummy.

A warm pressure pushes at my belly. It’s your foot. You run your foot over my stomach with minimal pressure. It’s still more than a hand would do with a lazy rub because legs are generally stronger than arms. The constant pressure of your foot squeezes my guts uncomfortably and shifts things around. I feel the semi-solid mush occupying my duodenum get squeezed, seemingly pushing out of both sphincters at either end at the same time. My stomach revolts. The sensation of forced back-flow upsets the swirling contents. More gastric contents work their way up my esophagus. I feel the level rise to mid-chest and climb and ebb. My aborted groans are cut off as I try to fight the vomit.

Your foot leaves my belly just as the level reaches the back of my throat. You were worried because I had seemingly stopped breathing. Once the pressure leaves, the sour liquid falls back into my stomach. I feel my stomach expand with it as my abdominals barely unclench in time to accommodate for the returning contents. Once everything is back in my belly I finally trust myself to let out a groan and to take a deeper breath.

“Ugh…I want to rub my tummy so bad. ‘m so sick. Hurts so much. Tummy…sick…too full…too much…ugh…” I’m mumbling. Clearly, the ordeal has been overwhelming for me. A part of you worries that we’ve gone too far now. Maybe this was too much and it broke me enough to forget the safety checks we have in place? You reach for the blindfold, finding it a little damp with tears. It worries you.

Settling to sit down on the floor with me, you reach over and gently rub my tummy. I moan softly, finally feeling some relief. My stomach tenses at the first touch but gradually unclenches under the comfort of your massage.

You can feel the sickly churning and sloshing of my guts. You can feel it each time my duodenum spasms—taking in new contents and occasionally allowing back-flow that upsets things all over again.

“Sweets…do you still want this?” You ask tentatively after I’ve been silent for a little while. It’s clear I’ve calmed down slightly from your massage.

“Hmm?” You can tell I’m out of it. Whether it’s a food coma, exhaustion, or me being too influenced by the scenario to be in the right state of mind—you don’t know. You reach over and begin to work on the strips of fabric securing my arms. It’s only because you are leaning in that you catch my words. “I want—I want it all out. Now. Please?” As my hands loosen, I reach over not for my stomach, but for your leg. Realization dawns. The game is still on…though this might be the big finish.

A dull but sudden pressure rattles me as you plant your foot solidly into my belly. It sinks in despite how full I am as my stomach-contents shoot up, up, and out. You hear the sound of something slapping at the back of my throat a millisecond before it splatters onto the smooth floors of our apartment. I’m on my knees and you are standing above me. Some of the sick inevitably got on your pant-leg and sock, but those can be cleaned. You nudge at the side of my belly with your foot, bringing up more sick.

Four productive heaves later I am left dry. My stomach aches something fierce. With a groan, I flop over to the side, barely avoiding the puddle of sick. My hair is definitely in it but I’m too exhausted to care. You tower over me, my back pressed up against your shins. You raise a foot and nudge it into my belly. I close my eyes as I feel your foot providing my clenching belly with a deep massage, deeper than anything hands could do. My stomach gripes and growls around your foot and you can feel the reverberations as you knead and churn it around. You press until you hear me gasp and push at your foot with my hands. You relent the pressure and offer the massage again, lulling me into a sense of security before you’ll inevitably do it again.

[gubler-me-up]

Not a Day Too Soon

Request: Spencer Reid on his wedding day hands the reader a receipt whilst at the altar instead of starting his vows and asks them to read the date and it turns out it’s like one month after their first date and then he asks the reader to read what the receipt is for and it was for their engagement ring and he’s just “that’s how long I’ve been sure. That’s how long I’ve wanted this to happen” and they’re both just crying sappy dorks getting married

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Hope this is what you dreamed of when you submitted this request to me. I hope I met all your expectations for sappy fluff! From your request, I decided to make the reader gender-neutral if that’s okay with you!! There wasn’t a specific gender specified and I wasn’t sure if it was done intentionally or not, but I hope you still love it! (Also, to anyone reading, I put a father walking the reader down the aisle, but you totally can substitute someone else in placement of a father)

Couple: Spencer Reid/Gender-Neutral!reader

Category: Wedding fluff

Content warning: None whatsoever

Word count: 2.4k

Notes: Y/F/F=Your favourite flower Y/B/F=Your best friend Y/M/N=Your middle name Y/L/N=Your last name 

-------------

Today was the beginning of the rest of your life with Spencer. For the last two years it had already felt as if you two had known each other centuries before. Every moment with him was undeniably time well spent. Every moment felt as if you had lived it and were reliving the best parts in an endless wheel of dreams. Marrying Spencer Reid was probably the peak of your forever happiness.

You stood in front of the mirror in your dressing room to look over everything. Your makeup had been flawlessly done and so was your hair. You were so nervous your eyeliner would smudge or your foundation wouldn’t match somehow. You had to admit it looked absolutely flawless. Your makeup artist was definitely worth every penny.

You admired your wedding attire one last time. The BAU girls and some of your friends had accompanied you to pick your perfect wedding attire. It took several hours but you were satisfied with your choice. You don’t remember the last time you ever felt so beautiful. Today was destined to be the best day of your life.

“Y/N, you ready?” You heard your dad ask from behind you.

You turned around and smiled. “Of course.”

You walked over to him and linked your arm with his. He handed you your bouquet of Y/F/F. He guided you out of the dressing room and out into the long hallway leading outside. He couldn’t stop telling you how beautiful you looked and how happy he was for you. You had to stop yourself from letting your tears fall from your eyes. You couldn’t bear messing up your mascara before meeting Spencer at the alter. You knew you would be shedding plenty of tears throughout the day, but you wanted to at least make it down the aisle tear-free.

You two made it out into the courtyard venue and the beautiful clear skies greeted you. The sun warmed your cheeks as a smile spread across your face. Spencer was standing at the altar in his black tuxedo with a cute black bowtie and from what you could see he was still wearing his famous mismatched socks. You couldn’t ask to marry anyone better ever in your life.

Everyone looked at you as you walked down the aisle. You could hear breathy ‘oh wow’s’ and ‘they looks gorgeous’ from the crowd of family and friends. Your eyes were still set on Spencer though. He covered his mouth in amazement as he watched you walk towards him. His joy couldn’t be held any longer as you saw a few tears escape his eyes. He removed his hand from his mouth to wipe them away. His covered smile was now beaming as he continued watching you in all your beauty. Derek, who was his best man, had to rub his back to give him some composure again.

As you reached the altar, you looked at your dad and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He held your hands tight in his, squeezing them tight before letting go. You knew he was about to shed tears of his own by how red his eyes were.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so happy for you,” he said.

“I love you too,” you said.

He went to go take his seat as you went to your designated spot across from Spencer. Y/B/F grabbed your bouquet from your hands. Spencer reached out for your hands and you didn’t hesitate to place yours in his. You held his hands tight in yours, happy he was here with you. He looked even more handsome up close. His smile was so joyous you couldn’t help to reflect it back.

Rossi soon walked in to meet both of you in the middle of the altar to begin the ceremony. You and Spencer hadn’t gotten a real pastor since neither of you were that big on religion and decided to just have a wedding officiant instead and to your surprise Rossi was a certified one. You saved yourselves a couple of bucks in exchange for a few sarcastic remarks and tasteful humour.

“Well, if I’m thinking what everyone else is thinking than my answer is yes, it is about time someone other than myself to get married,” he began and got a ton of laughs in response.

He looked at the both of you, who were laughing, but both of you were laughing while looking deeply into each other’s eyes as if you were in your own world. He even noticed that you two were whispering “I love you” to each other already and you were slowly, but surely tearing up.

“They’re already saying “I love you” to each other. Hello, kids, this is a wedding ceremony, not a date. Save the I love you’s for either the Honeymoon or the bedroom,” Rossi joked.

Everyone laughed, even you and Spencer, as you two finally got over yourselves. You took the time to wipe an escaped tear from your eye and regained yourself by taking a deep breath. Rossi cleared his throat to get everyone settled, so he could proceed with the ceremony quicker since he believed that you and Spencer would rather spend your wedding privately at that point.

“But being serious now, we’re gathered here to join these two dorks in holy matrimony. I’m glad that we could all be here today to join Spencer Walter Reid and Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N as one big Doctorate degree,” he joked again.

Both you and Spencer looked at each other with approval. You two had spent your money wisely when you decided to spare the pastor and hire Rossi instead. He brought something so tedious to life.

“Proceeding, in the presence of family, friends and loved ones, I’m going to go ahead and initiate this whole thing. Ever since these two were born, they’ve been meant for each other, but it took fate to match them up at the right time. We’re also here to celebrate the good in life that has come from the bad and trust me, they make bad look like a schoolyard bully. I’m honoured to bind these two souls together and I’m overjoyed to not be the one saying the vows because I forgot them, so please, Spencer, let your lovely partner know how you feel.”

Spencer smiled and took a deep breath as he let go of your hands to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of folded paper. He let out a soft chuckle as he looked up from the paper to you. You stared at him, eagerly awaiting him to say his vows. You were kind of surprised he had to write down his vows. Maybe an eidetic memory was good to a fault. To your surprise though, he handed you the paper.

“Y/N, read the date on the receipt,” he said.

You looked at him confused, but followed his instructions. This was definitely an unexpected move on Spencer’s part, but then again he was always full of surprises. You opened up the receipt and looked at the top for the date.

“June 3rd,” you said.

“You know what day it was a month prior to that date?” He asked.

You giggled as you remembered. “How could I forget? It was our first date.”

He smiled. “Exactly. Can you read what the receipt was for?”

You looked back down at the receipt. You went to the items listed and only saw one. As soon as you read it, you felt tears form in your eyes again. You looked up at him and as soon as he saw the look on your face, he knew you saw what he bought. You could also see tears starting to form in his eyes again.

“An…an engagement ring,” you said as you tried your best to hold back your tears.

“Yes, an engagement ring. That’s how long I’ve been sure we were meant to be. That’s how long I’ve wanted this moment to happen. I bought the engagement ring a month after our first date with the intention of marrying you one day. All that I have, all that I am, all that I’ll ever be is yours forever. From the very moment I saw you, I knew you were the one for me, the one that I knew I had to spend the rest of my life with. Our courtship was one of the best days of my life, for you have become not just my lover and companion, but also my best friend. I want to be your lover, your companion and your best friend for the rest of my life. I promise to love and cherish you, to keep you close and with faithfulness, to be your prop and helpmate in times of need, to make you laugh and to hold you when you cry, to hold you to the highest respect and honor as you so deserve for the rest of my life,” he said as a few tears escaped his eyes.

As he said every word, you felt it sting the depths of your heart as no other words have done before. The love that rolled off his tongue, every word he said overwhelmed you with content. You looked lovingly in his eyes as he looked back at you with a warm smile that you could never get enough of. It made you thrilled to think that you would be seeing that face for the rest of your life and you had no regrets about that decision.

Knowing a month from the first day you two met was the day he decided he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life was the best feeling your heart ever felt. You were overjoyed Spencer had felt as deeply for you as you did him from the start. The love he gave you would never grow old to you not even after death. His love would probably still warm you from the grave through its endless warmth.

“Y/N,” Rossi said. “Go ahead.”

You took a deep, jagged breath. “I have dreamed my whole life of having someone as…as wonderful as you to love me the way you do. I give myself to you and I…I gladly promise here to treasure for all of my days the love we celebrate today. Let us bring together our lives and find ourselves anew each day…Sorry.”

A few tears started to stream down your face. Spencer took his right hand and wiped away your tears, gently enough, so he didn’t mess up the hours of perfecting your makeup for the occasion. He gently whispered to you to take your time because he knew how much this meant to you and how overwhelmed you were. You smiled at his touch, as you seemed to breathe a bit easier from his reassurance. You took another breath before continuing.

“You are a precious gift to me, my springtime, my hope and my joy. You are everything that's good and pure and true and I worship you with my mind, body and soul. How lucky I am to be able to say that you are mine, to be able to love and cherish you for the rest of my days. I vow to always put you first in my life, always be there to comfort you in your sorrow and rejoice with you in your victories. May our hearts and very breath become one as we unite this day as partners in life. I promise to be your true love from this day forward and forevermore.”

He beamed a big grin at you as a few more tears left his eyes. It was your turn to use your hand as tissue and wiped away his tears. Tears were still flowing down your own eyes as you found it hard to hold back your happiness. From ear shot you could hear some people in the audience crying from joy and letting out sweet awe’s as they watched the two of you being in deep love with one another.

“I don’t think I could have said that better and I’ve been married three times. Before these two crying dorks become dehydrated from water loss, let’s get to the ring exchange. Henry, the rings, please,” Rossi said.

Henry, who was standing by Spencer’s side, lifted up the pillow to give the two white gold rings to you both. You and Spencer took each other’s ring, waiting for the instructions from Rossi to initiate the ring exchange.

“Spencer, as you put the ring on Y/N’s finger, repeat after me: I, Spencer Reid, take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my partner.”

“I, Spencer Reid, take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my partner. I promise you love, honour and respect, to be faithful to you and forsaking all others, until death do us part,” Spencer finished as he eagerly slipped your wedding ring on your finger.

“Or not. Y/N, your vow,” Rossi said.

“I, Y/N Y/L/N, take you, Spencer Reid, to be my partner. I promise you love, honour and respect, to be faithful to you and forsaking all others, until death do us part,” you said as you slipped his ring on his ring finger.

“I don’t think I really have to ask this since you basically said it, but Spencer, do you take Y/N as your lawfully wedded partner till death do you part?” Rossi asked.

“I do,” he responded.

“Y/N, do you take Spencer as your lawfully wedded partner?” he asked.

“I do,” you said.

“Well, I know you two have been waiting for this exact moment since June 3rd, so you may now kiss.”

He didn’t even have to tell either of you that as you two immediately locked lips as he finished his sentence and enjoyed your first kiss as lifelong partners. You had to admit, it felt pretty good, maybe even better than any other kiss you two had.

Everyone stood up as they cheered for you both, some crying at the sight of two souls becoming one. As you parted lips, both of you looked deep into each other’s eyes and smiled brightly at each other. You had only been married for a minute and already started to mimic each other. The pianist started to play a tune for you two to walk out with. Spencer immediately grabbed your hand as you grasped his with great strength as he led the way down the aisle as your guests watched and cheered for your happiness and future lives together.

—–

MASTERLIST

[simpingovernonexistentmen]

Exclusive Rights

My First Fanfiction Ever Hope you like it.

Genre: Omegaverse, A/B/O, BNHA, Alpha Bakugo X Omega Reader

Plot: Nesting Omega reader stealing Alpha Bakugo things getting caught in the process.

Slightly Suggestive, SFW,

Of course this would happen to you. You would have a crush over an emotionally unavailable Alpha. And of course everything would line up around the time your inner Omega wants to obsessively nest. You were currently working for a hero agency suggest by a friend, which is where you met none other than Pro Hero Ground Zero. Otherwise known as Katsuki Bakugo. Your job consisted with secretarial work, your quirk allowed you hack into anything and everything. Which wasn't exactly field agent worthy, your quirk was mostly meant for computers but, every so often when you forgot your house keys you would just use your quirk to get you out of a bind. A desk job suited you just fine, you were simple and you liked it that way. But being around the dangerous alpha made you yearn for a little more than simple.

And just like magic he appeared. It was like the universe was mocking you and your one sided love. Of course your Omega was jumping with joy seeing her Alpha come into view. You had to concentrate very hard just to keep your scent from changing. Last thing you needed was making it painfully obvious that you liked the grumpy alpha. You gripped harder on the pen you were holding in your desk pinching your eyes closes, evening out your breathing to keep from being noticed.

Little did you know that this Alpha had already noticed your behavior change the moment he walked in. Bakugo noticed you the moment you started working in his agency. Your scent called to his alpha like a sweet siren. He convinced himself that he didn't have time for a love life. He was too focused on being number one hero, becoming stronger so he would never be on equal grounds with a certain green haired hero.

Still he couldn't help but, watch you. He watched you from afar seeing you get along with your coworkers, laughing and smiling. He couldn't help but, be a bit envious wanting to be the reason for your silver bell laugh or, your heart stopping smile. In the end he would just curse to himself and walk away before his alpha was further riled up. Still he couldn't stop the pleasurable hums that his inner alpha produced when he caught your scent in the air.

Meanwhile you were trying not to relish in the grumpy alpha's scent. Cinnamon and firewood was now your new favorite scent. How you wished you could roll in his scent wrapping it around you like a comforting blanket. Once he walked passed you with his best friend red riot in tow, you could finally let go of the pocket of air you've been holding allowing yourself to breath in the remnants of his presence. Even with his scent your Omega was still whining at you to obtain her alpha's things for the perfect nest. Of course you had a plan to do just that.

After work hours was over, you told your coworkers you were going to stay behind for some last minute paperwork that needed to be done. Of course your new omega and alpha friends wanted to stay behind with you so, you wouldn't be alone but, you insisted you were fine and that you would get home ok. Once you were sure everyone was out, your mission started.

You quickly headed for the field agents locker room, using your quirk to pop open the lock easily slipping in the room. Nervousness and, excitement overwhelmed you on how close you were to your goal. You stood in front of the locker you were eyeing with the name Ground Zero engraved on it. Instead of wasting time, you used your quirk again to open the locker. Opening your small bag on your hip you took small trinkets that you deemed wouldn't be noticed if it had gone missing. Taking a pen, one sock, and a small hand towel stuffing it quickly in your bag.

You glanced at his white shirt hanging in his locker that he used for his work outs. You stared at it, remembering your alpha's jaw dropping body filled it out, sweating from his works out and occasionally lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. You couldn't help yourself. You grabbed a hold on his shirt hugging it to your chest purring happily while rubbing your face in his scent.

That is until you heard footsteps nearby. Shit! Shit! Shit! Panic was spreading throughout your body. The footsteps were becoming very apparent that they were headed this way, without thinking you shoved yourself into Bakugo's locker closing the door. You waited trying to suppress the distressed chips that wanted to come out.

"Shut your fucking yapping! I am just grabbing my workout clothes to wash. You don’t need to wait for me"

You overheard a irradiated person yell out followed by click which, probably meant he was on a phone call. The footsteps came closer to your hiding place, your body went ridged when you were flooded with the scent of cinnamon and firewood. The door flung open meeting a very surprised wide eye Bakugo piercing your guilty looking ones. After a few seconds of staring you decided to say something.

"Umm...if i say this isn't what it looks like would you believe me?" You let out a nervous laugh.

It took Bakugo a second to answer you since he was too busy looking at you clutching his shirt to your chest. His inner alpha purred at the sight. He sniffed the air smelling some of his scent on you. He placed an arm out against the locker slowly leaning in with a smirk.

"No i don’t think i will. Y/N" His voice stated huskily

It didn't take an long to figure out you were stealing his stuff. Judging how you had his shirt pressed against your chest you were obviously nesting but, that wasn't the most important part. The fact that you taking HIS things with HIS scent made his alpha purr in happiness, he couldn't stop the grin from appearing on his face.

Meanwhile you were cursing the day you were born while, at the same time melting at the fact your name rolling off his tongue. You smiled up nervously at the looming alpha. Unknowingly clutching his shirt tighter to you which did not go unnoticed by Bakugo.

"Anyway i could persuade you into pretending this never happened and us both going our separate ways?"

"Not a chance" He quickly responded "But if you tell me why your in my locker with my things, i might be inclined to help you out."

The cockiness in his voice did not go unnoticed by you....Was he actually interested in you? You decided to test out that theory since you had nothing else to lose at this point. You let your scent of violets and berries fill the air around you. You placed a gentle hand on the alpha's chest, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"I'm nesting" you stated with a sultry voice.

Bakugo raised an eyebrow to your sudden change in demeanor but, he would be damned if he said didn't like it. Your scent made his mouth water while, your voice made his body heat up with excitement. He couldn't deny his inner alpha anymore, your silent invitation was enough to break his convictions. Only a idiot would pass since a delectable feast in front of him and, he was no idiot. He placed his hand under your chin gently, making sure he had your full attention.

"You need MY help with that Omega?" He stated with his alpha seeping through.

You shivered in delight with just his touch. He was definitely interested in you, God you had it bad for him. Your Omega let out a small pleading whine, wanting nothing more than her alpha to touch you more. He was pumping out his scent making you feel like your in a drunken state.

"Yes please Alpha"

He gave a sharp toothy grin grabbing your wrist to drag you out of his locker, pulling you to his chest. You felt his chest purring against you.

"What do i get out of it, if i help you?" He asked while, wrapping his arms around your curvy figure. God you were the perfect fit in his arms.

"A date sound good?" You chirped up with your new found courage.

Bakugo chuckled rubbing his face against your scent gland breathing you in. He whispered in your ear lowly.

"I want exclusive rights of dating you" He said with such authority.

You pulled away enough to see his face letting a smile grace your face.

"Sounds like a deal to me"

That's it! Hope you like it. I’ll think about writing more One-Shots in the future.

[ultragrasseater]

you’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

I've been working on this for so long because I ended up dropping it for a bit when my grades and hyper fixation started to decline. BUT HERE IT IS!! I might write further but that would mean that the minor canon divergence would become major. I'd make Kaworu a pilot so I could develop their relationship rather than Kaworu just straight up DIE. Also, don't knock me for naming this after a lyric in Radiohead's Creep. You know damn well Shinji listens to male manipulator music

After Rei's death Shinji and Kaworu get into a verbal fight and Shinji passes out. He then stays the night with Kaworu in order to avoid Misato. You can find this on AO3 here

Shinji was complex. To others, his behavior was erratic and unexplainable and he knew no one understood him. He didn’t think anyone had the capacity to, but when Shinji stayed the night at Kaworu’s he had not expected for his expectations to be subverted by this boy. Shinji had a habit of running away whenever things got tough but this time was different. Shinji had just lost his friend and fellow pilot Ayanami and he was overtaken by pain and guilt. Ayanami was kind and gentle to him, unlike Asuka. Asuka was cruel and made life a living hell. Shinji knew he couldn’t go home. He didn’t want to see Misato, or even hear her attempts to cheer him up.

Shinji just needed space, from all of it. There was really only one option, to stay the night with Kaworu. Shinji had a habit of passing out. To wear the plugsuit he had to bind his chest (which was not good for him but, what did NERV care). Shinji had known Kaworu and the rest of the Children for a very short while but from what he gathered, Kaworu was very opinionated. After the battle that killed Ayanami, Kaworu and Shinji got in a small verbal fight and Shinji’s excessive binding plus him grabbing Kaworu caused him to pass out from stress. Shinji later woke up in Kaworu’s apartment and decided to stay there seeing his situation.

As the two boys sat in the room Shinji couldn’t help but look around. It looked like a normal teen boy’s room, but it was extremely well kept. It was almost sterile. The room didn’t feel lived in. There were no stray socks lying around or food crumbs, but it was still just a normal boy’s room, right? There was nothing else to say about it. Kaworu was reading on his bed and Shinji was sitting on the floor watching television. Shinji felt alone in his company, but not in a bad way. Kaworu being there was all he needed. He needed to be left alone but not isolated. Kaworu’s presence was appreciated.

That night Shinji and Kaworu slept in the same bed. Shinji thought to himself, this is fine, nothing wrong with two guys sharing a bed. It’ll be okay . Shinji knew he enjoyed being around Kaworu and Kaworu seemed to be the only one who cared about his feelings. That night Shinji had nightmares, like most evenings after major battles; it seemed to come with the horrors of piloting an EVA. Ayanami’s grotesque death kept flashing before his eyes. Images of the emaciated EVA Unit 00. The screams that burst from Ayanami, the angel, and Unit 00 pierced his ears.  The taste of blood and the dullness of suffocation were too much for Shinji to bear. He tossed and turned most of the night, hyperventilating. Kaworu took notice of this and did something he had never done before. Kaworu kissed Shinji, breathing air into his lungs. Shinji stopped hyperventilating but he was caught completely off guard. He awoke and pushed Kaworu off of him.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Shinji screamed at Kaworu. He was furious that his first kiss was with Kaworu. Shinji struggled with internalised homophobia and transphobia. He hated himself for being transgender (and unknowingly, bisexual) along with other reasons. This boy, Kaworu, was a threat to him. He didn’t want to have feelings at all, let alone for him. Shinji knew he couldn’t be loved, so why did Kaworu try? Why should anyone try to be kind to him?

God knows he doesn’t deserve it--let alone how difficult he is to be around. Shinji knew quite well that the closer anyone gets to him, the more he will hurt them.

Kaworu rebutted, “I was just trying to help you, besides I know you have feelings for me.” Shinji was distraught. He knew he couldn’t ignore the flutter of his growing infatuation, but it was too much.

He started to feel tears prick his eyes, “Guys don’t like guys...”

Kaworu looked into Shinji’s red puffy eyes and just muttered, “Oh Shinji…” Kaworu pulled him to his chest and tears threatened to fall from Shinji’s eyes. Shinji gave in and sobbed-- wetting the older boy’s shirt with tears. Kaworu was the first person who had understood Shinji. Kaworu knew his pain but didn’t know how. What was this foreign feeling? Kaworu hadn’t ever experienced sadness or love or happiness, but at this moment he did. At this moment Kaworu knew how he felt towards Shinji. Kaworu knew he wanted to hold him like this forever, for he understood all his pain. It’s harder to be him than to be around him .

Eventually, Shinji calmed down. He stayed in Kaworu’s arms and Kaworu caressed his head. Shinji had always been alone but in this moment the loneliness faded. Shinji never wanted to be lonely again.

Shinji looked at Kaworu and broke the silence. “Thank you Kaworu. I don’t think anyone has ever understood me. It’s just so hard having the weight of the world on your shoulders alongside dealing with regular teen stuff and I feel like no one gets it. Hard as Ms. Misato tries she would never understand. Ayanami doesn’t seem to care that we’re just kids who are forced to protect the world. Asuka would never understand either because she takes pride in it. Asuka doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

Kaworu just simply responded. “I know Shinji, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Shinji looked away from the boy. How could he know it would be okay?

Kaworu began to speak again, “You’ve let me in Shinji. I understand your pain. You struggle to let others in for fear of being hurt or hurting them. This makes it hard for people to want to understand or listen to you, but you are simply trying to protect yourself. The problem is that you are guarding yourself against people who do not wish to hurt you, and because of that, you are actually hurting them more.”

Shinji had only known him for a couple of days, and yet Kaworu was the only one. The only one who understood him loved him and accepted him. All without asking anything in return. This boy (who minutes ago he had thought would be the end of him) made Shinji feel like he was living in the present for the very first time.

Shinji decided he would do something that he never thought he would have the courage to do. Shinji would return Kaworu's kiss. He looked at the boy and studied his face. Kaworu was unnervingly pale. His features were pretty, ethereal. They were striking but not in an overtly handsome way. He was just… beautiful. He was the most stunning boy he had ever seen and Shinji loved it. His lips, nose, and cheeks were flush. It almost looked like makeup with how stained they appeared. His nose was straight, pointed, and tall. His eyes were scarlet (it was his most obvious feature) and were surrounded by long grey eyelashes. His lips were beautifully shaped; they were on the thinner side with a pronounced cupid’s bow.

Shinji couldn’t help but stare at them and he slowly leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. Shinji pressed his lips against Kaworu’s and Kaworu wrapped his hands around Shinji’s neck. Shinji trembled under his touch and he broke the kiss, tears falling down his cheeks. Kaworu wiped them away and pulled Shinji in again. Kaworu was much more assertive when it came to physical touch. Shinji almost recoiled at it, for touch was foreign to him. Shinji kissed Kaworu back and grabbed the other boy’s hands, intertwining their fingers together. Kaworu’s hands laid on both of Shinji’s cheeks so he could wipe his tears away and they sat together in each other’s presence. They sat together, Shinji silently crying, limp against Kaworu. Their bodies were close and they could feel the heat of each other’s skin. Kaworu heard Shinji’s ragged breathing and Shinji could feel Kaworu’s veins under his skin.

Shinji stopped crying and kissed him again. This time was easier on Shinji. He was prepared and this time, hungry. Shinji devoured Kaworu’s lips, every movement of his jaw was laced with fire. Kaworu had no complaints and was quite relieved. As much as he enjoyed comforting him, it would’ve been depressing to wipe his tears all night long. Making out with Kaworu was one turn of events Shinji had never thought of but god did he relish in it. He couldn’t stop himself from the growing feeling of yearning in his chest. His hunger, pain, and sadness melted with each blossoming peck. Kaworu’s saliva was like sweet ambrosia. Their fluttering lips painted pictures of light in the room shrouded by the darkness of night. Notes of music flooded into Kaworu’s mind. They were at peace.

[grigori77]

2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 3)

10.  WOLFWALKERS – eleven years ago, Irish director Tomm Moore exploded onto the animated cinema scene with The Secret of Kells, a spellbinding feature debut which captivated audiences the world over and even garnered an Oscar nomination.  Admittedly I didn’t actually even know about it until I discovered his work through his astonishing follow-up, Song of the Sea (another Academy Award nominee), in 2015, so when I finally caught it I was already a fan of Moore’s work.  It’s been a similarly long wait for his third feature, but he’s genuinely pulled off a hat-trick, delivering a third flawless film in a row which OF COURSE means that his latest feature is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my top animated feature of 2020.  I could even be tempted to say it’s his best work to date … this is an ASTONISHING film, a work of such breath-taking, spell-binding beauty that I spent its entire hour and three-quarters glued to the screen, simple mesmerised by the wonder and majesty of this latest iteration of the characteristically stylised “Cartoon Saloon” look.  It’s also liberally steeped in Moore’s trademark Celtic vibe and atmosphere, once again delving deep into his homeland’s rich and evocative cultural history and mythology while also bringing us something far more original and personal – this time the titular supernatural beings are magical near-human beings whose own subconscious can assume the form of very real wolves.  Set in a particularly dark time in Irish history – namely 1650, when Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector – the story follows Robyn (Honor Kneafsey, probably best known for the Christmas Prince films), the impetuous and spirited young daughter of English hunter Bill Goodfellowe (Sean Bean), brought in by the Protectorate to rid the city of Kilkenny of the wolves plaguing the area.  One day fate intervenes and Robyn meets Mebh Og MacTire (The Girl at the End of the Garden‘s Eve Whittaker), a wild girl living in the woods, whose accidental bite gives her strange dreams in which she becomes a wolf – turns out Mebh is a wolfwalker, and now so is Robyn … every aspect of this film is an utter triumph for Moore and co, who have crafted a work of living, breathing cinematic art that’s easily the equal to (if not even better than) the best that Disney, Dreamworks or any of the other animation studios could create.  Then there’s the excellent voice cast – Bean brings fatherly warmth and compassion to the role that belies his character’s intimidating size, while Kneafsey and Whittaker make for a sweet and sassy pair as they bond in spite of powerful cultural differences, and the masterful Simon McBurney (Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) brings cool, understated menace to the role of Cromwell himself.  This is a film with plenty of emotional heft to go with its marvels, and once again displays the welcome dark side which added particular spice to Moore’s previous films, but ultimately this is still a gentle and heartfelt work of wonder that makes for equally suitable viewing for children as for those who are still kids at heart – ultimately, then, this is another triumph for one of the most singularly original filmmakers working in animation today, and if Wolfwalkers doesn’t make it third time lucky come Oscars-time then there’s no justice in the world …

9.  WONDER WOMAN 1984 – probably the biggest change for 2020 compared to pretty much all of the past decade is how different the fortunes of superhero cinema turned out to be.  A year earlier the Marvel Cinematic Universe had dominated all, but the DC Extended Universe still got a good hit in with big surprise hit Shazam!  Fast-forward to now and things are VERY different – DC suddenly came out in the lead, but only because Marvel’s intended heavy-hitters (two MCU movies, the first Venom sequel and potential hot-shit new franchise starter Morbius: the Living Vampire) found themselves continuously pushed back thanks to (back then) unforeseen circumstances which continue to shit all over our theatre-going slate for the immediate future.  In the end DC’s only SERIOUS competition turned out to be NETFLIX … never mind, at least we got ONE big established superhero blockbuster into the cinemas before the end of the year that the whole family could enjoy, and who better to headline it than DC’s “newest” big screen megastar, Diana Prince? Back in 2017 Monster’s Ball director Patty Jenkins’ monumental DCEU standalone spectacularly realigned the trajectory of a cinematic franchise that was visibly flagging, redesigning the template for the series’ future which has since led to some (mostly) consistently impressive subsequent offerings.  Needless to say it was a damn tough act to follow, but Jenkins and co-writers Geoff Johns (Arrow and The Flash) and David Callaham (The Expendables, Zombieland: Double Tap, future MCU entry Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings) have risen to the challenge in fine style, delivering something which pretty much equals that spectacular franchise debut … as has Gal Gadot, who’s now OFFICIALLY made the role her own thanks to yet another showstopping and definitive performance as the unstoppable Amazonian goddess living amongst us.  She’s older and wiser than in the first film, but still hasn’t lost that forthright honesty and wonderfully pure heart we’ve come to love ever since her introduction in Zack Snyder’s troublesome but ultimately underrated Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (yes, that’s right, I said it!), and Gadot’s clear, overwhelming commitment to the role continues to pay off magnificently as she once again proves that Diana is THE VERY BEST superhero in the DCEU cinematic pantheon.  Although it takes place several decades after its predecessor, WW84 is, obviously, still very much a period piece, Jenkins and co this time perfectly capturing the sheer opulent and over-the-top tastelessness of the 1980s in all its big-haired, bad-suited, oversized shoulder-padded glory while telling a story that encapsulates the greedy excessiveness of the Reagan era, perfectly embodied in the film’s nominal villain, Max Lord (The Mandalorian himself, Pedro Pascal), a wishy-washy wannabe oil tycoon conman who chances upon a supercharged wish-rock and unleashes a devastating supernatural “monkey’s paw” upon the world. To say any more would give away a whole raft of spectacular twists and turns that deserve to be enjoyed good and cold, although they did spoil one major surprise in the trailer when they teased the return of Diana’s first love, Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) … needless to say this is another big blockbuster bursting with big characters, big action and BIG IDEAS, just what we’ve come to expect after Wonder Woman’s first triumphant big screen adventure.  Interestingly, the film starts out feeling like it’s going to be a bubbly, light, frothy affair – after a particularly stunning all-action opening flashback to Diana’s childhood on Themyscira, the film proper kicks off with a bright and breezy atmosphere that feels a bit like the kind of Saturday morning cartoon action the consistently impressive set-pieces take such unfettered joy in parodying, but as the stakes are raised the tone grows darker and more emotionally potent, the storm clouds gathering for a spectacularly epic climax that, for once, doesn’t feel too overblown or weighed down by its visual effects, while the intelligent script has unfathomable hidden depths to it, making us think far more than these kinds of blockbusters usually do.  It’s really great to see Chris Pine return since he was one of the best things about the first movie, and his lovably childlike wide-eyed wonder at this brave new world perfectly echoes Diana’s own last time round; Kristen Wiig, meanwhile, is pretty phenomenal throughout as Dr Barbara Minerva, the initially geeky and timid nerd who discovers an impressive inner strength but ultimately turns into a superpowered apex predator as she becomes one of Wonder Woman’s most infamous foes, the Cheetah; Pascal, of course, is clearly having the time of his life hamming it up to the hilt as Lord, playing gloriously against his effortlessly cool, charismatic action hero image to deliver a compellingly troubling examination of the monstrous corrupting influence of absolute power.  Once again, though, the film truly belongs to Gadot – she looks amazing, acts her socks off magnificently, and totally rules the movie.  After this, a second sequel is a no-brainer, because Wonder Woman remains the one DC superhero who’s truly capable of bearing the weight of this particular cinematic franchise on her powerful shoulders – needless to say, it’s already been greenlit, and with both Jenkins and Gadot onboard, I’m happy to sign up for more too …

8.  LOVE & MONSTERS – with the cinemas continuing their frustrating habit of opening for a little while and then closing while the pandemic ebbed and flowed in the months after the summer season, it was starting to look like there might not have been ANY big budget blockbusters to enjoy before year’s end as heavyweights like Black Widow, No Time To Die and Dune pulled back to potentially more certain release slots into 2021 (with only WW84 remaining stubbornly in place for Christmas).  Then Paramount decided to throw us a bone, opting to release this post-apocalyptic horror comedy on-demand in October instead, thus giving me the perfect little present to tie me over during the darkening days of autumn. The end result was a stone-cold gem that came out of nowhere to completely blow critics away, a spectacular sleeper hit that ultimately proved one of the year’s biggest and most brilliant surprises.  Director Michael Matthews may only have had South African indie thriller Five Fingers for Marseilles under his belt prior to this, but he proves he’s definitely a solid talent to watch in the future, crafting a fun and effective thrill-ride that, like all the best horror comedies, is consistently as funny as it is scary, sharing much of the same DNA as this particular mash-up genre’s classics like Tremors and Zombieland and standing up impressively well to such comparisons.  The story, penned by rising star Brian Duffield (who has TWO other entries on this list, Underwater and Spontaneous) and Matthew Robinson (The Invention of Lying, Dora & the Lost City of Gold), is also pretty ingenious and surprisingly original – a meteorite strike has unleashed weird mutagenic pathogens that warp various creepy crawly critters into gigantic monstrosities that have slaughter most of the world’s human population, leaving only a beleaguered, dwindling few to eke out a precarious living in underground colonies. Living in one such makeshift community is Joel Dawson (The Maze Runner’s Dylan O’Brien), a smart and likeable geek who really isn’t very adventurous, is extremely awkward and uncoordinated, and has a problem with freezing if threatened … which makes it all the more inexplicable when he decides, entirely against the advice of everyone he knows, to venture onto the surface so he can make the incredibly dangerous week-long trek to the neighbouring colony where his girlfriend Aimee (Iron Fist’s Jessica Henwick) has ended up.  Joel is, without a doubt, the best role that O’Brien has EVER had, a total dork who’s completely unsuited to this kind of adventure and, in the real world, sure to be eaten alive in the first five minutes, but he’s also such a fantastically believable, fallible everyman that every one of us desperate, pathetic omega-males and females can instantly put ourselves in his place, making it elementarily easy to root for him.  He’s also hilariously funny, his winningly self-deprecating sass and pitch perfect talent for physical comedy making it all the more rewarding watching each gloriously anarchic life-and-death encounter mould him into the year’s most unlikely action hero.  Henwick, meanwhile, once again impresses in a well-written role where she’s able to make a big impression despite her decidedly short screen time, as do the legendary Michael Rooker and brilliant newcomer Ariana Greenblatt as Clyde and Minnow, the adorably jaded, seen-it-all-before pair of “professional survivors” Joel meets en-route, who teach him to survive on the surface.  The action is fast, frenetic and potently visceral, the impressively realistic digital creature effects bringing a motley crew of bloodthirsty beasties to suitably blood-curdling life for the film’s consistently terrifying set-pieces, while the world-building is intricately thought-out and skilfully executed.  Altogether, this was an absolute joy from start to finish, and a film I enthusiastically endorsed to everyone I knew was looking for something fun to enjoy during the frustrating lockdown nights-in.  One of the cinematic year’s best kept secrets then, and a compelling sign of things to come for its up-and-coming director.

7.  PARASITE – I’ve been a fan of master Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho ever since I stumbled across his deeply weird but also thoroughly brilliant breakthrough feature The Host, and it’s a love that’s deepened since thanks to truly magnificent sci-fi actioner Snowpiercer, so I was looking forward to his latest feature as much as any movie geek, but even I wasn’t prepared for just what a runaway juggernaut of a hit this one turned out to be, from the insane box office to all that award-season glory (especially that undeniable clean-sweep at the Oscars). I’ll just come out and say it, this film deserves it all.  It’s EASILY Bong’s best film to date (which is really saying something), a masterful social satire and jet black comedy that raises some genuinely intriguing questions before delivering deeply troubling answers.  Straddling the ever-widening gulf between a disaffected idle rich upper class and impoverished, struggling lower class in modern-day Seoul, it tells the story of the Kim family – father Ki-taek (Bong’s good luck charm, Song Kang-ho), mother Chung-sook (Jang Hye-jin), son Ki-woo (Train to Busan’s Choi Woo-shik) and daughter Ki-jung (The Silenced’s Park So-dam) – a poor family living in a run-down basement apartment who live hand-to-mouth in minimum wage jobs and can barely rub two pennies together, until they’re presented with an intriguing opportunity.  Through happy chance, Ki-woon is hired as an English tutor for Park Da-hye (Jung Ji-so), the daughter of a wealthy family, which offers him the chance to recommend Ki-jung as an art tutor to the Parks’ troubled young son, Da-song (Jung Hyeon-jun). Soon the rest of the Kims are getting in on the act, the kids contriving opportunities for their father to replace Mr Park’s chauffeur and their mother to oust the family’s long-serving housekeeper, Gook Moon-gwang (Lee Jung-eun), and before long their situation has improved dramatically.  But as they two families become more deeply entwined, cracks begin to show in their supposed blissful harmony as the natural prejudices of their respective classes start to take hold, and as events spiral out of control a terrible confrontation looms on the horizon.  This is social commentary at its most scathing, Bong drawing on personal experiences from his youth to inform the razor-sharp script (co-written by his production assistant Han Jin-won), while he weaves a palpable atmosphere of knife-edged tension throughout to add spice to the perfectly observed dark humour of the situation, all the while throwing intriguing twists and turns at us before suddenly dropping such a massive jaw-dropper of a gear-change that the film completely turns on its head to stunning effect.  The cast are all thoroughly astounding, Song once again dominating the film with a turn at once sloppy and dishevelled but also poignant and heartfelt, while there are particularly noteworthy turns from Lee Sun-kyun as the Parks’ self-absorbed patriarch Dong-ik and Choi Yeo-jeong (The Concubine) as his flighty, easily-led wife Choi Yeon-gyo, as well as a fantastically weird appearance in the latter half from Park Myung-hoon.  This is heady stuff, dangerously seductive even as it becomes increasingly uncomfortable viewing, so that even as the screws tighten and everything goes to hell it’s simply impossible to look away.  Bong Joon-ho really has surpassed himself this time, delivering an existential mind-scrambler that lingers long after the credits have rolled and might even have you questioning your place in society once you’ve thought about it some. It deserves every single award and every ounce of praise it’s been lavished with, and looks set to go down as one of the true cinematic greats of this new decade.  Trust me, if this was a purely critical best-of list it’d be RIGHT AT THE TOP …

6.  THE OLD GUARD – Netflix’ undisputable TOP OFFERING of the summer came damn close to bagging the whole season, and I can’t help thinking that even if some of the stiffer competition had still been present it may well have still finished this high. Gina Prince-Blythewood (Love & Basketball, the Secret Life of Bees) directs comics legend Greg Rucka’s adaptation of his own popular series with uncanny skill and laser-focused visual flair considering there’s nothing on her previous CV to suggest she’d be THIS good at mounting a stomping great ultraviolent action thriller, ushering in a thoroughly engrossing tale of four ancient, invulnerable immortal warriors – Andy AKA Andromache of Scythia (Charlize Theron), Booker AKA Sebastian de Livre (Matthias Schoenaerts), Joe AKA Yusuf Al-Kaysani (Wolf’s Marwan Kenzari) and Nicky AKA Niccolo di Ginova (Trust’s Luca Marinelli) – who’ve been around forever, hiring out their services as mercenaries for righteous causes while jealously guarding their identities for fear of horrific experimentation and exploitation should their true natures ever be discovered.  Their anonymity is threatened, however, when they’re uncovered by former CIA operative James Copley (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who’s working for the decidedly dodgy pharmaceutical conglomerate run by sociopathic billionaire Steven Merrick (Harry Melling, formerly Dudley in the Harry Potter movies), who want to capture these immortals so they can patent whatever it is that makes them keep on ticking … just as a fifth immortal, US Marine Nile Freeman (If Beale Street Could Talk’s KiKi Layne), awakens after being “killed” on deployment in Afghanistan.  The supporting players are excellent, particularly Ejiofor, smart and driven but ultimately principled and deeply conflicted about what he’s doing, even if he does have the best of intentions, and Melling, the kind of loathsome, reptilian scumbag you just love to hate, but the film REALLY DOES belong to the Old Guard themselves – Schoenaerts is a master brooder, spot-on casting as the group’s relative newcomer, only immortal since the Napoleonic Wars but clearly one seriously old soul who’s already VERY tired of the lifestyle, while Joe and Nicky (who met on opposing sides of the Crusades) are simply ADORABLE, an unapologetically matter-of-fact gay couple who are sweet, sassy and incredibly kind, the absolute emotional heart of the film; it’s the ladies, however, that are most memorable here.  Layne is exceptional, investing Nile with a steely intensity that puts her in good stead as her new existence threatens to overwhelm her and MORE THAN qualified to bust heads alongside her elders … but it’s ancient Greek warrior Andy who steals the film, Theron building on the astounding work she did in Atomic Blonde to prove, once and for all, that there’s no woman on Earth who looks better kicking arse than her (as Booker puts it, “that woman has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn”); in her hands, Andy truly is a goddess of death, tough as tungsten alloy and unflappable even in the face of hell itself, but underneath it all she hides a heart as big as any of her friends’.  They’re an impossibly lovable bunch and you feel you could follow them on another TEN adventures like this one, which is just as well, because Prince-Blythewood and Rucka certainly put them through their paces here – the drama is high (but frequently laced with a gentle, knowing sense of humour, particularly whenever Joe and Nicky are onscreen), as are the stakes, and the frequent action sequences are top-notch, executed with rare skill and bone-crunching zest, but also ALWAYS in service to the story.  Altogether this is an astounding film, a genuine victory for its makers and, it seems, for Netflix themselves – it’s become one of the platform’s biggest hits to date, earning well-deserved critical acclaim and great respect and genuine geek love from the fanbase at large.  After this, a sequel is not only inevitable, it’s ESSENTIAL …

5.  MANK – it’s always nice when David Fincher, one of my TOP FIVE ALL TIME FAVOURITE DIRECTORS, drops a new movie, because it can be GUARANTEED to place good and high in my rundown for that year.  The man is a frickin’ GENIUS, a true master of the craft, genuinely one of the auteur’s auteurs.  I’ve NEVER seen him deliver a bad film – even a misfiring Fincher (see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or Alien 3) is still capable of creating GREAT CINEMA.  How? Why?  It’s because he genuinely LOVES the art form, it’s been his obsession all his life, and he’s spent every day of it becoming the best possible filmmaker he can be.  Who better to tell the story of the creation of one of the ULTIMATE cinematic masterpieces, then?  Benjamin Ross’ acclaimed biopic RKO 281 covered similar ground, presenting a compelling look into the making Citizen Kane, the timeless masterpiece of Hollywood’s ULTIMATE auteur, Orson Welles, but Fincher’s film is more interested in the original inspiration for the story, how it was written and, most importantly, the man who wrote it – Herman J. Mankiewicz, known to his friends as Mank. One of my favourite actors of all time, Gary Oldman, delivers yet another of his career best performances in the lead role, once a man of vision and incredible storytelling skill whose talents have largely been squandered through professional difficulties and personal vices, a burned out one-time great fallen on hard times whom Welles picks up out of the trash, dusts off and offers a chance to create something truly great again.  The only catch?  The subject of their film (albeit dressed up in the guise of fictional newspaper magnate Charles Foster Kane) is to be real-life publisher, politico and tycoon William Randolph Hurst (Charles Dance), once Mank’s friend and patron before they had a very public and messy falling out which partly led to his current circumstances.  As he toils away in seclusion on what is destined to become his true masterwork, flashbacks reveal to us the fascinating, moving and ultimately tragic tale of his rise and fall from grace in the movie business, set against the backdrop of one of the most tumultuous periods in American history.  Shooting a script that his own journalist and screenwriter father, Jack, crafted and then failed to bring to the screen himself before his death in 2003, Fincher has been working for almost a quarter century to make this film, and all that passion and drive is writ large on the screen – this is a glorious film ABOUT film, the art of it, the creation of it, and all the dirty little secrets of what the industry itself has always really been like, especially in that most glamorous and illusory of times.  The fact that Fincher shot in black and white and intentionally made it look like it was made in the early 1940s (the “golden age of the Silver Screen”, if you will) may seem like a gimmick, but instead it’s a very shrewd choice that expertly captures the gloss and moodiness of the age, almost looking like a contemporary companion piece to Kane itself, and it’s the perfect way to frame all the sharp-witted observation, subtly subversive character development and murky behind-the-scenes machinations that tell the story.  Oldman is in every way the star here, holding the screen with all the consummate skill and flair we’ve come to expect from him, but there’s no denying the uniformly excellent supporting cast are equal to the task here – Dance is at his regal, charismatic best as Hearst, while Amanda Seyfried is icily classy on the surface but mischievous and lovably grounded underneath as Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies, who formed the basis for Kane’s most controversial character, Arliss Howard (Full Metal Jacket, The Lost World: Jurassic Park, Moneyball) brings nuance and complexity to the role of MGM founder Louis B. Mayer, Tom Pelphrey (Banshee, Ozark) is understated but compelling as Mank’s younger screenwriter brother Joseph, and Lily Collins and Tuppence Middleton exude class and long-suffering stubbornness as the two main women in Mank’s life (his secretary and platonic muse, Rita Alexander, and his wife, Sara), while The Musketeers’ Tom Burke’s periodic but potent appearances as Orson Welles help to drive the story in the “present”.  Another Netflix release which I was (thankfully) able to catch on the big screen during one of the brief lulls between British lockdowns, this was a decidedly meta cinematic experience that perfectly encapsulated not only what is truly required for the creation of a screen epic, but also the latest pinnacle in the career of one of the greatest filmmakers working in the business today, powerful, stirring, intriguing and surprising in equal measure. Certainly it’s one of the most important films ABOUT so far film this century, but is it as good as Citizen Kane?  Boy, that’s a tough one …

4.  ENOLA HOLMES – ultimately, my top film for the autumn/winter movie season was also the film which finally topped my Netflix Original features list, as well as beating all other streaming offerings for the entire year (which is saying something, as you should know by now).  Had things been different, this would have been one of Warner Bros’ BIGGEST releases for the year in the cinema, of that I have no doubt, a surprise sleeper hit which would have taken the world by storm – as it is it’s STILL become a sensation, albeit in a much more mid-pandemic, lockdown home-viewing kind of way.  Before you start crying oh God no, not another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, this is a very different beast from either the Guy Ritchie take or the modernized BBC show, instead side-lining the great literary sleuth in favour of a delicious new AU version, based on The Case of the Missing Marquess, the first novel in the Enola Holmes Mysteries literary series from American YA author Nancy Springer.  Positing that Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) and his elder brother Mycroft (Sam Claflin) had an equally ingenious and precocious baby sister, the film introduces us to Enola (Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown), who’s been raised at home by their strong-willed mother Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter) to be just as intelligent, well-read and intellectually skilled as her far more advantageously masculine elder siblings.  Then, on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Enola awakens to find her mother has vanished, putting her in a pretty pickle since this leaves her a ward of Mycroft, a self-absorbed social peacock who finds her to be wilfully free-spirited and completely ill equipped to face the world, concluding that the only solution is sending her to boarding school where she’ll learn to become a proper lady.  Needless to say she’s horrified by the prospect, deciding to run away and search for her mother instead … this is about as perfect a family adventure film as you could wish for, following a vital, capable and compelling teen detective-in-the-making as she embarks on her very first investigation, as well as winding up tangled in a second to boot involving a young runaway noble, Viscount Tewkesbury, the Marquess of Basilwether (Medici’s Louis Partridge), and the film is a breezy, swift-paced and rewardingly entertaining romp that feels like a welcome breath of fresh air for a literary property which, beloved as it may be, has been adapted to death over the years.  Enola Holmes a brilliant young hero who’s perfectly crafted to carry the franchise forward in fresh new directions, and Brown brings her to life with effervescent charm, boisterous energy and mischievous irreverence that are entirely irresistible; Cavill and Claflin, meanwhile, are perfectly cast as the two very different brothers – this Sherlock is much less louche and world-weary than most previous versions, still razor sharp and intellectually restless but with a comfortable ease and a youthful spring in his step that perfectly suits the actor, while Mycroft is as superior and arrogant as ever, a preening arse we derive huge enjoyment watching Enola consistently get the best of; Bonham Carter doesn’t get a lot of screen-time but as we’d expect she does a lot with what she has to make the practical, eccentric and unapologetically modern Eudoria thoroughly memorable, while Partridge is carefree and likeable as the naïve but irresistible Tewkesbury, and there are strong supporting turns from Frances de la Tour as his stately grandmother, the Dowager, Susie Wokoma (Crazyhead, Truth Seekers) as Emily, a feisty suffragette who runs a jujitsu studio, Burn Gorman as dastardly thug-for-hire Linthorn, and Four Lions’ Adeel Akhtar as a particularly scuzzy Inspector Lestrade.  Seasoned TV director Harry Bradbeer (Fleabag, Killing Eve) makes his feature debut with an impressive splash, unfolding the action at a brisk pace while keeping the narrative firmly focused on an intricate mystery plot that throws in plenty of ingenious twists and turns before a suitably atmospheric climax and pleasing denouement which nonetheless artfully sets up more to come in the future, while screenwriter Jack Thorne (His Dark Materials, The Scouting Book for Boys, Wonder) delivers strong character work and liberally peppers the dialogue with a veritable cavalcade of witty zingers.  Boisterous, compelling, amusing, affecting and exciting in equal measure, this is a spirited and appealing slice of cinematic escapism that flatters its viewers and never talks down to them, a perfect little period adventure for a cosy Sunday afternoon.  Obviously there’s plenty of potential for more, and with further books to adapt there’s more than enough material for a pile of sequels – Neflix would be barmy indeed to turn their nose up at this opportunity …

3.  1917 – it’s a rare thing for a film to leave me truly shell-shocked by its sheer awesomeness, for me to walk out of a cinema in a genuine daze, unable to talk or even really think about much of anything for a few hours because I’m simply marvelling at what I’ve just witnessed.  Needless to say, when I do find a film like that (Fight Club, Inception, Mad Max: Fury Road) it usually earns a place very close to my heart indeed.  The latest tour-de-force from Sam Mendes is one of those films – an epic World War I thriller that plays out ENTIRELY in one shot, which doesn’t simply feel like a glorified gimmick or stunt but instead is a genuine MASTERPIECE of film, a mesmerising journey of emotion and imagination in a shockingly real environment that’s impossible to tear your eyes away from.  Sure, Mendes has impressed us before – his first film, American Beauty, is a GREAT movie, one of the most impressive feature debuts of the 2000s, while Skyfall is, in my opinion, quite simply THE BEST BOND FILM EVER MADE – but this is in a whole other league.  It’s an astounding achievement, made all the more impressive when you realise that there’s very little trickery at play here, no clever digital magic (just some augmentation here and there), it’s all real locations and sets, filmed in long, elaborately choreographed takes blended together with clever edits to make it as seamless as possible – it’s not the first film to try to do this (remember Birdman? Bushwick?), but I’ve never seen it done better, or with greater skill. But it’s not just a clever cinematic exercise, there’s a genuine story here, told with guts and urgency, and populated by real flesh and blood characters – the heart of the film is True History of the Kelly Gang’s George MacKay and Dean Chapman (probably best known as Tommen Baratheon in Game of Thrones) as Lance Corporals Will Schofield and Tom Blake, the two young tommies sent out across enemy territory on a desperate mission to stop a British regiment from rushing headlong into a German trap (Tom himself has a personal stake in this because his brother is an officer in the attack).  They’re a likeable pair, very human and relatable throughout, brave and true but never so overtly heroic that they stretch credibility, so when tragedy strikes along the way it’s particularly devastating; both deliver exceptional performances that effortlessly carry us through the film, and they’re given sterling support from a selection of top-drawer British talent, from Sherlock stars Andrew Scott and Benedict Cumberbatch to Mark Strong and Colin Firth, each delivering magnificently in small but potent cameos.  That said, the cinematography and art department are the BIGGEST stars here, masterful veteran DOP Roger Deakins (The Shawshank Redemption, Blade Runner 2049 and pretty much the Coen Brothers’ entire back catalogue among MANY others) making every frame sing with beauty, horror, tension or tragedy as the need arises, and the environments are SO REAL it feels less like production design than that someone simply sent the cast and crew back in time to film in the real Northern France circa 1917 – from a nightmarish trek across No Man’s Land to a desperate chase through a ruined French village lit only by dancing flare-light in the darkness before dawn, every scene is utterly immersive and simply STUNNING.  I don’t think it’s possible for Mendes to make a film better than this, but I sure hope he gives it a go all the same.  Either way, this was the most incredible, exhausting, truly AWESOME experience I had at the cinema all year – it’s a film that DESERVES to be seen on the big screen, and I feel truly sorry for those who missed the chance …

2.  BIRDS OF PREY & THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN – the only reason 1917 isn’t at number two is because Warner Bros.’ cinematic DC Extended Universe project FINALLY got round to bringing my favourite DC Comics title to the big screen.  It was been the biggest pleasure of my cinematic year getting to see my top DC superheroines brought to life on the big screen, and it was done in high style, in my opinion THE BEST of the DCEU films to date (yup, I loved it EVEN MORE than the Wonder Woman movies).  It was also great seeing Harley Quinn return after her show-stealing turn in David Ayer’s clunky but ultimately still hugely enjoyable Suicide Squad, better still that they got her SPOT ON this time – this is the Harley I’ve always loved in the comics, unpredictable, irreverent and entirely without regard for what anyone else thinks of her, as well as one talented psychiatrist.  Margot Robbie once more excels in the role she was basically BORN to play, clearly relishing the chance to finally do Harley TRUE justice, and she’s a total riot from start to finish, infectiously lovable no matter what crazy, sometimes downright REPRIHENSIBLE antics she gets up to.  Needless to say she’s the nominal star here, her latest ill-advised adventure driving the story – finally done with the Joker and itching to make her emancipation official, Harley publicly announces their breakup by blowing up Ace Chemicals (their love spot, basically), inadvertently painting a target on her back in the process since she’s no longer under the assumed protection of Gotham’s feared Clown Prince of Crime – but that doesn’t mean she eclipses the other main players the movie’s REALLY supposed to be about.  Each member of the Birds of Prey is beautifully written and brought to vivid, arse-kicking life by what had to be 2020’s most exciting cast – Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress, is the perfect character for Mary Elizabeth Winstead to finally pay off on that action hero potential she showed in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but this is a MUCH more enjoyable role outside of the fight choreography because while Helena may be a world-class dark avenger, socially she’s a total dork, which just makes her thoroughly adorable; Rosie Perez is similarly perfect casting as Renee Montoya, the uncompromising pint-sized Gotham PD detective who kicks against the corrupt system no matter what kind of trouble it gets her into, and just gets angrier all the time, paradoxically making us like her even more; and then there’s the film’s major controversy, at least as far as the fans are concerned, namely one Cassandra Cain.  Sure, this take is VERY different from the comics’ version (a nearly mute master assassin who went on to become the second woman to wear the mask of Batgirl before assuming her own crime-fighting mantle as Black Bat and now Orphan), but personally I like to think this is simply Cass at THE VERY START of her origin story, leaving plenty of time for her to discover her warrior origins when the DCEU finally gets around to introducing her mum, Lady Shiva (personally I want Michelle Yeoh to play her, but that’s just me) – anyways, here she’s a skilled child pickpocket whose latest theft inadvertently sets off the larger central plot, and newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a fantastic pre-teen irreverence and spiky charm to the role, beautifully playing against Robbie’s mercurial energy.  My favourite here BY FAR, however, is Dinah Lance, aka the Black Canary (not only my favourite Bird of Prey but my very favourite DC superheroine PERIOD), the choice of up-and-comer Jurnee Smollet-Bell (Friday Night Lights, Underground) proving to be the film’s most inspired casting – a club singer with the metahuman ability to emit piercing supersonic screams, she’s also a ferocious martial artist (in the comics she’s one of the very best fighters IN THE WORLD), as well as a wonderfully pure soul you just can’t help loving, and it made me SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY that they got my Canary EXACTLY RIGHT.  Altogether they’re a fantastic bunch of badass ladies, basically my perfect superhero team, and the way they’re all brought together (along with Harley, of course) is beautifully thought out and perfectly executed … they’ve also got one hell of a threat to overcome, namely Gotham crime boss Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, one of the Joker’s chief rivals – Ewan McGregor brings his A-game in a frustratingly rare villainous turn (my number one bad guy for the movie year), a monstrously narcissistic, woman-hating control freak with a penchant for peeling off the faces of those who displease him, sharing some exquisitely creepy chemistry with Chris Messina (The Mindy Project) as Sionis’ nihilistic lieutenant Victor Zsasz.  This is about as good as superhero cinema gets, a perfect example of the sheer brilliance you get when you switch up the formula to create something new, an ultra-violent, unapologetically R-rated middle finger to the classic tropes, a fantastic black comedy thrill ride that’s got to be the most full-on feminist blockbuster ever made – it’s helmed by a woman (Dead Pigs director Cathy Yan), written by a woman (Bumblebee’s Christina Hodson), produced by more women and ABOUT a bunch of badass women magnificently triumphing over toxic masculinity in all its forms.  It’s also simply BRILLIANT – the cast are all clearly having a blast, the action sequences are first rate (the spectacular GCPD evidence room fight in which Harley gets to REALLY cut loose is the undisputable highlight), it has a gleefully anarchic sense of humour and is simply BURSTING with phenomenal homages, references and in-jokes for the fans (Bruce the hyena! Stuffed beaver! Roller derby!).  It’s also got a killer soundtrack, populated almost exclusively by numbers from female artists.  Altogether, then, this is the VERY BEST the DCEU has to offer to date, and VERY NEARLY my absolute FAVOURITE film of 2020.  Give it all the love you can, it sure as hell deserves it.

1.  TENET – granted, the streaming platforms (particularly Netflix and Amazon) certainly saved our cinematic summer, but I’m still IMMEASURABLY glad that my ultimate top-spot winner FOR THE WHOLE YEAR was one I got to experience on THE BIG SCREEN. You gotta hand it to Christopher Nolan, he sure hung in there, stubbornly determined that his latest cinematic masterpiece WOULD be released in cinemas in the summer (albeit ultimately landing JUST inside the line in the final week of August and ultimately taking the bite at the box office because of the still shaky atmosphere), and it was worth all the fuss because, for me, this was THE PERFECT MOVIE for me to get return to cinemas with.  I mean, okay, in the end it WASN’T the FIRST new movie I saw after the first reopening, that honour went to Unhinged, but THIS was my first real Saturday night-out big screen EXPERIENCE since March.  Needless to say, Nolan didn’t disappoint this time any more than he has on any of his consistently spectacular previous releases, delivering another twisted, mind-boggling headfuck of a full-blooded experiential sensory overload that comes perilously close to toppling his long-standing auteur-peak, Inception (itself second only by fractions to The Dark Knight as far as I’m concerned). To say much at all about the plot would give away major spoilers – personally I’d recommend just going in as cold as possible, indeed you really should just stop reading this right now and just GO SEE IT.  Still with us?  Okay … the VERY abridged version is that it’s about a secret war being waged between the present and the future by people capable of “inverting” time in substances, objects, people, whatever, into which the Protagonist (BlacKkKlansman’s John David Washington), an unnamed CIA agent, has been dispatched in order to prevent a potential coming apocalypse. Washington is once again on top form, crafting a robust and compelling morally complex heroic lead who’s just as comfortable negotiating the minefields of black market intrigue as he is breaking into places or dispatching heavies, Kenneth Branagh delivers one of his most interesting and memorable performances in years as brutal Russian oligarch Andrei Sator, a genuinely nasty piece of work who was ALMOST the year’s very best screen villain, Elizabeth Debicki (The Night Manager, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Widows) brings strength, poise and wounded integrity to the role of Sator’s estranged wife, Kat, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson gets to use his own accent for once as tough-as-nails British Intelligence officer Ives, while there are brief but consistently notable supporting turns and cameos from Martin Donovan, Yesterday’s Himesh Patel, Dirk Gently’s Fiona Dourif and, of course, Nolan’s good luck charm, Michael Caine.  The cast’s biggest surprise, however, is Robert Pattinson, truly a revelation in what has to be, HANDS DOWN, his best role to date, Neil, the Protagonist’s mysterious handler – he’s by turns cheeky, slick, duplicitous and thoroughly badass, delivering an enjoyably multi-layered, chameleonic performance which proves what I’ve long maintained, that the former Twilight star is actually a fucking amazing actor, and on the basis of this, even if that amazing new teaser trailer wasn’t making the rounds, I think the debate about whether or not he’s the right choice for the new Batman is now academic.  As we’ve come to expect from Nolan, this is a TRUE tour-de-force experience, a visual triumph and an endlessly engrossing head-scratcher, Nolan’s screenplay bringing in seriously big ideas and throwing us some major narrative knots and loopholes, constantly wrong-footing the viewer while also setting up truly revelatory payoffs from seemingly low-key, unimportant beginnings – this is a film you need to be awake and attentive for or you could miss something pretty vital. The action sequences are, as ever, second to none, some of the year’s very best set-pieces coming thick and fast and executed with some of the most accomplished skill in the business, while Nolan-regular cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar and Dunkirk, as well as the heady likes of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, SPECTRE and Ad Astra) once again shows he’s one of the best camera-wizards in the business today by delivering some absolutely mesmerising visuals.  Notably, Nolan’s other regular collaborator, composer Hans Zimmer, is absent here (although he had good reason, since he was working on his dream project at the time, the fast-approaching screen adaptation of Dune), but Ludwig Göransson (best known for his collaborations with Ryan Coogler Fruitvale Station, Creed and Black Panther, as well as career-best work on The Mandalorian) is a fine replacement, crafting an intriguingly internalised, post-modern musical landscape that thrums and pulses in time with the story and emotions of the characters rather than the action itself. Interestingly it’s on the subject of sound that some of the film’s rare detractions have been levelled, and I can see some of the points – the soundtrack mix is an all-encompassing thing, and there are times when the dialogue can be overwhelmed, but in Nolan’s defence this film is a heady, immersive experience, something you really need to concentrate on, so these potential flaws are easily forgiven.  As a work of filmmaking art, this is another flawless wonder from one of the true masters of the craft working in cinema today, but it’s art with palpable substance, a rewarding whole that proved truly unbeatable in 2020 …